


Sleepin' with the Fishes

by Catsitta



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst, Canon What Canon?, Complicated Relationships, Curses, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Romance, Drowning, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Folklore, Kidnapping, Mafia Mers, Mermaids, Minor Violence, Mobfell Papyrus (Undertale), Mobfell Sans (Undertale), Mobswap Papyrus (Undertale), Mobswap Sans (Undertale), Mobtale Papyrus (Undertale), Mobtale Sans (Undertale), Mystery, Reader-Insert, Reverse Harem, Romance, Suspense, Swearing, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: Your Nan always warned you to not go seeking magic lest it found you first and took its due in blood. Maybe you should have listened. Maybe nothing could have changed what happened on that fateful day by the sea.A pearl. A curse. A transformation.Magic has a way of reclaiming what belongs to it.Reverse Harem | Mafia Mermaids | Reader Insert
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 444
Kudos: 548





	1. If the Price is Right

“Why can’t you just grow up!”

Those were the words that made you choke on air.

“Oh stop with the waterworks, they don’t work on me.”

You couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like you cried on purpose when your mother yelled at you. Even now, as an adult, she could render you small enough to crush beneath her heel, every accusation a stab in your aching chest, every insult a slap to the face. 

“It was cute when you were five, talking about fairies and maaaaaagic, but you’re twenty-five! There aren’t goblins in the walls keeping you up all night and brownies stealing your car keys so you’re late to work. Grow. Up. And take some accountability for your actions. I didn’t raise you to be some job-hopping flake.” She didn’t ‘raise’ you at all. “You got fired from the grocery store. THE GROCERY STORE. A minimum wage job that requires minimum competency and you managed to lose it. How many times did the so-called fairies make you miss your shift? Excuses don’t pay the bills. Just...get out. Go. I can’t look at you right now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

You staggered out of the kitchen and blinking through the tears, you fled the only home you knew. All you had on you were the clothes on your back, your wallet and a pair of keys to a rickety sedan with a quarter tank of gas and more dents than a tin can in a dumpster. It was more than enough to get away. To get out of her sight. So she didn’t have to look at the utter disappointment that was her daughter. As you slammed the door and turned the key, your vision clouded and your body shook. Pitiful. Pathetic. Childish. You stepped on the gas and backed out of the driveway, wishing the whole while that Nan was still alive. She understood. She was the one that actually raised you. It was her house and memory that haunted your flight. Your mother was a barely there presence until a few years ago when Nan got sick and you dared drop out of school to take care of her. 

Now, it was just you two in that too small house that your mother now owned and you couldn’t leave. Not when you put all your pennies into paying off debt for a degree that would never be complete, and trying to keep up your half of the rent. There was nothing to spare. And this no horse town by the sea, where work was sparse and part-time, you just lost your flimsy financial security. All you had to do was show up on time. And you messed that up. You always messed things up. You messed up your mother’s life by being born. You probably messed up Nan’s by existing too. But at least Nan understood. She listened to your childhood tales of seeing wings in the gardens, and eyes in the dark. She never judged. Instead she read to you myths and shared with you folktales from her home country. And warned you to not go looking for magic lest it found you first and took its due in blood.

“She’s a wee bit touched,” you once heard her say to your mother. 

“Touched in the head is right. She is too old for this nonsense,” your mother’s harsh dismissal never failed to sting. “Ouch! Mam!”

“Shut ye mouth about what ye don’t understand, girlie. Brought ye up better than than tha’.”

“She climbed the fence during recess because she thought she heard a voice calling her. That isn’t normal.”

“Easily tempted. Vulnerable. But a child, still. If we were back in my home country, she’d no doubt be of an interest to the fair folk in the hills. They ‘ave a habit of takin’ youngins that were born too close to the veil. And ye have had a changeling in the cradle instead of ye own babe.”

Your mother scoffed and the conversation ended then, leaving you to wonder if you were crazy. The kids at school liked to call you that. Crazy. Weirdo. Freak. That stigma chased you into adulthood when you came home from college and never left the town where everyone knew your name and reputation. The girl who heard voices from the trees. The girl who always tripped on her laces and muttered about little imps untying them. The girl who fell in the river during flood season and should have drowned, but turned up 3 days later, a little bruised but unscathed, with no memory of how she got back home. The girl whose own mother half-abandoned her for a new life in the big city.

You tried shutting it all out. Tried moving on. But when you made a habit of zealously organizing your belongings and things kept vanishing, only to turn up in the garden, or on top of the cabinets, it was hard to place the blame of forgetfulness. Your car keys go into the dish by the door. Yet for the past week, you found them in the oddest places.

It didn’t matter now. 

You pulled over to the side of the gravel road and stepped into crisp sea breezes. The beach was a comforting place. Many a long summer spent on its shores. One had to be careful. It wasn’t the sandy sort, but craggy and rocky, littered with stones smoothed by the waves. With a sniff, you scrubbed your face and headed for the water, eased by the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the roar drowning out your riotous thoughts. Worn sneakers crunched along on uneven pebbles, your footing sure from years of practice, and soon the soles were soaked, seafoam bubbling around rubber. You shivered and zipped your hoodie a little higher, unsure if it was the stress or the wind that left your skin prickled. 

“Miss you, Nan,” you murmured, words swallowed by the cry of gulls and the crash of waves. “Miss you so, so much. I wish...I wish you were here.” Your hands curled into fists. But before you could profess your woes to the sea and cry your heart dry so that you could face your mother without falling apart, a shadow fell over you. Instinct had you pivoting, the sun dazzling you as you faced it unblinking. “Who?”

“Easy, easy, didn’t mean to spook yer, sweetheart,” rumbled the stranger. His voice was low and accent thick, like he was from one of those big cities in the movies, with skyscrapers and muggers and balding guys on corners with hot dog stands. Squinting through the light revealed his broad frame and old-fashioned suit. It looked expensive, but a few decades out of date...which meant he fit right in with the locals. At least it wasn’t plaid. He smiled, the glint of a gold crown gleaming at the corner of his smile. You let yourself blink and he adjusted his hat. “Yer alright? Sun gettin’ to yer?” 

“I’m...I’m fine...just catching some fresh air.”

He was tall, you realized, not just broad. His build was, to put it in complementary terms, stocky, all torso and shoulders, not a lot of leg, a bit of a gut, and likely a whole lotta muscle in those arms. It was...hard to look at his face, and you weren’t sure why. But he had a wide smile. Clean shaven. You caught a whiff of cologne beneath the scent of salt. He extended a hand, rings and a wristwatch glittering against olive skin. “My apologies if I caught yer at a bad time,” he said, and you carefully shook his hand. His handshake was firm, businesslike and cool. You weren’t the only one feeling the chill in the air. “Price. Butch Price at yer service.”

As you gave you name, you noticed that Mr. Price had a cart behind him. He wasn’t just trolling the shores in that suit, but selling things. Seaglass and shells dangled and jingled amongst shards of pottery and silver chains. “I’m sorry, I can’t buy anything,” you murmured and he tsked, leaning against his cart without a worry in the world.

“S’okay. Wasn’t plannin’ a pitch. If yer don’t mind a gent askin’, what’s got yer down in the dumps, dollface?”

You narrowed your eyes at his casual use of endearments, but his hands were at his pockets, and he wasn’t looming like a dog after a steak. Some folks were just like that. They didn’t mean any harm. “Lots of stuff, I guess. Today’s been...rough.” Tears again prickled at the corners of your eyes and you were quick to wipe them aside. “Just, ever have one of those days where everything that can go wrong, goes wrong?”

“Think everybody has,” he replied with an understanding nod. “Heh. I’ve had some real doozies, m’self.”

“Ever lost your job in a broke town while having five bucks to your name, rent due at the end of the month and almost no gas in the car?” Mr. Price whistled. You continued, “Accompanied by the realization that you’re a grown adult living with a mother that hates you for the same reasons that said broke town doesn’t trust you to bag their groceries anymore.” A small, manic laugh escaped and you cradled your head. It was hard to think straight.

“Sure does sound like yer are havin’ quite a day,” he said, voice soft with empathy. “If it makes yer feel any better, yer ma prolly don’t hate yer. I mean, yer got all yer teeth don’tcha?” His grim joke made you sputter and he chuckled. “My ol’ man was a real piece o’ work. Mean when he wasn’t boozin’ it up, and outright nasty when on a bender. Literally kicked me and my brother out when we wuzn’t even grown. And it wuz storming! Those were some bad days, BUT, here I am, got m’self a nice lil business on the beach, and nobody but me remembers the bastard’s name. Karma has a way of makin’ things right.”

The weight in your gut felt heavier than ever. He had real issues he overcame. You were just whining over spilt milk in comparison. 

“Hey now, chin up, sweetheart. Didn’t tell yer all that to make yer feel bad. I ‘ave a weakness for pretty ladies when they get all teary eyed, so don’t go breakin’ this heart of mine by cryin’ more,” Butch fished a hankerchief from his suit pocket and offered it up. “Clean yer face. There we go. So, yer ma and yer had a fight cuz yer lost yer job? Sounds like an easy fix. Meet me here in the mornin’, eight am sharp. I’ll have work for ya.”

“W-what?”

He thumbed at the cart, “I’m thinkin’ a smart business investment is hirin’ a pretty lady to help me sell my wares.”

“Are you sure…?”

“As I am that the sun is gonna rise in the morning,” he winked. “How’s ten an hour plus commission sound?” Your eyes went a little wide. That was more than the grocery store paid you. 

“Why?”

“Why not?” Mr. Price challenged back. “Now, if yer gonna be workin’ for me, yer gotta be wearin’ somethin’ to help promote the business.” He rubbed his chin, “I got just the thing.” He rummaged in one of the drawers on the cart and pulled out a little pearl hanging from a leather cord. It wasn’t round, but more oblong like a raindrop. “Put this on, darlin’.”

Slowly, you accepted it, “This is too much.”

“Nah, like I said, business investment.”

“I could take this and run off and never come back.”

“Yer could. But yer won’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure thing. I’m a gamblin’ man.”

Swallowing the dryness in your mouth, you looped the necklace over your head, the pearl settling at your collarbone, “It’s pretty.”

“Aint it? It’s yers now. Called a Mermaid’s Tear, that one. Make sure yer wear it and somethin’ nice and breezy when you come back tomorrow. No jeans or sneakers.” He pointed at your now uncomfortably wet shoes. “Can ya do that, dollface?”

“Yes. Yes I can.”

“Heh. Bring yer smile wit yer. Now, run off. Go make nice with yer ma. Tell her the good news.”

Curling your hand around the pearl, you nodded, your heart suddenly racing. _Run, run_ , whispered the ocean as you waved your new boss goodbye. _Run, run to me._ You jogged back to your car, though it was hard to ignore the ‘Voice’ when it called. _Run, run into my embrace._ You settled behind the wheel and started the ignition. You weren’t a selkie. To flee into the ocean would steal your breath. And there was a chance that the waves would be far less kind than the river, and wouldn’t return you to shore.


	2. Cash or Credit?

The floral sundress and strappy sandals weren’t exactly what one would call business wear, but the outfit looked cute with a big sun hat and the pearl necklace. You slathered on sunscreen and dabbed on lip gloss before leaving the bathroom, your whole body feeling full of bubbles. As you entered the kitchen, you spotted your mother at the table, sipping coffee and checking her emails on her phone. She looked up as you lurked in the doorway, mouth dry, stomach twisting into knots. There was a hardness to her gaze as she looked you over. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Anything worth saying was said last night when you came home, gushing about your new job.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but envy her. She was aging gracefully, same as Nan did, not a spec of grey in her neatly styled hair, her skin clear and makeup tastefully done. She thrived in the big city. She was forceful. Powerful. Demanding. That critical eye and tongue made few friends, but paid for the lifestyle she desired. The only reason she stayed here, working remotely, was for you. Otherwise she would have sold the house and left this town behind. 

It was hard being somebody’s biggest failure. Nothing you did would ever be enough. You didn’t finish your degree. Your reputation as crazy meant your dating life was nonexistent. And you struggled to hold onto a job. If she were to pack up and leave, you would be homeless and helpless and it stung. She didn’t raise you. Most days you were pretty sure she didn’t like you. But she wasn’t evil incarnate.

Last night she reminded you that somewhere, deep down, she worried like a proper mother.

You came home, shouted how you found a new job, and as she listened, she frowned. Harder and harder until she buried her face in her hands. “How naive can you be?” she groaned. “You’re lucky you haven’t been picked up by a man in white van offering candy.”

“He gave me a job!”

“And you believed him? That some random stranger on the beach would hire you on the spot? I don’t trust it. You shouldn’t go back.”

“I...I promised I would. And he gave me this—”

“What part of don’t take candy from strangers did you never learn?”

“It’s not like that!” You stood your ground, hands balled into fists. “Is it really hard to believe that there are actually nice people in the world who empathize with other people and want to do nice things for them?”

She threw her hands in the air, “Fine! Do what you want. I don’t care.” A lie. You could see it in her shoulders, in her eyes, in the way her shoulders dropped. The two of you didn’t see eye-to-eye but she didn’t want you dead. 

“Mom.”

“Your dinner is in the fridge if you want to eat.”

“Mom.”

She walked away. You saw her back more times than her smile. Such was true even this morning as she stubbornly checked her emails without making eye contact. You wondered, idly, if there would come a day where the both of you would be able to talk without fighting. Without pain. For now you were coexisting strangers, incompatible and stepping on the glassy shards of a long since shattered relationship. You sighed and indulged in a cool cup of coffee and a slice of toast before heading out. Skipping meals was normal when you’re living on so little. Your mother paid the bills, kept a roof over your head, but the rest was on you. You made your own meals unless she was feeling indulgent, and put gas in your own tank. Subsiding on coffee and one proper meal a day was all you could afford to keep your floundering independence. 

That last five bucks went into a couple gallons of fuel on your way to the beach. Luckily the drive wasn’t far. When you pulled off on the side of the road and stepped out, you spotted Mr. Price where you saw him last, chatting up one of the older ladies in town. Mr. Hendrick—or as you liked to call him, Mr. Henpecked—stood nearby, looking bored. His wife clucked away at Mr. Price, who had to be sweet talking her real good by the way she hid her face like a flustered schoolgirl. As you approached, she was finishing her purchase of a bracelet, and upon seeing you, her smile went plastic. 

“My dear girl, how are you?” Mrs. Hendrick asked in that sickly-sweet Sunday school tone of hers. Her white hair was neatly permed into submission and her hose-covered ankles the only part of her legs visible beneath her neatly pressed purple skirt. All she needed was a little hat with flowers in it and gloves to make the look fashionably vintage. A real pearl-clutcher, it was a miracle she wasn’t already making a scene at the sight of you. She never did understand the word subtlety. “I heard about what happened. I’m sure you will find a new job in no time.” She laid a hand over her mouth as if ‘remembering’ that Mr. Price was there. “Oh, where are my manners. Mr. Price this is—”

“My new salesgirl!” He pinned that grin in your direction and motioned you over. “Don’t she look a million bucks?” You cleared your throat a little at the compliment and walked to stand next to him, half expecting a heavy arm to loop around your shoulders. But thankfully, he simply looped his thumbs in his pockets. “Yes ma’am I have a good feelin’ ‘bout her.”

“Oh. You’ve...met,” that plastic smile lost a little of its shine. “How nice of you to hire her given her reputation. But oh! You wouldn’t know the stories, being from out of town and all.”

Mr. Price scoffed, “Now, now Martha, if I didn’t give the gal a chance it just wouldn’t sit right on my soul. Everybody deserves a chance, especially when they’re havin’ to fold a bad hand.” He winked at you, which sent a strange shiver down your back. “And I like to think of m’self as a gamblin’ man. Makin’ bets on people is no different than on cards. Sometimes, yer end up with an ace.”

“Well, she is a sweet girl and it was a shame she was fired,” Mrs. Hendrick said. “Maybe she will be _your_ ace.” Yes, yes, just continue talking like you weren’t there. You bit your lip because the last thing you needed was to prove the lady right by forcing Mr. Price to fire you for being catty with a customer. “Have a nice day, Mr. Price~ George, come along. I’m done shopping!”

“Yes dear,” Mr. Hendrick said, nodding to Mr. Price and trailing after his wife. Once the two were safely out of earshot, Mr. Price adjusted his hat and shook his head.

“Now that’s a shark if I ever seen one,” he said. “Eat yer alive, she will.”

“You’re lucky. She was MY home ed teacher. I still can’t sew, but I know six ways to polish spoons and can get blood out carpet.”

“Sounds like there is a story behind that,” he chuckled. “C’mon, I’ll give yer the quick and dirty guide on how this here job will work. Then yer can explain why she taught a class of kids how to clean blood out of the rug.”

“Apparently her husband has chronic nosebleeds?” you supplied helpfully, earning another laugh before he got down to business. He looked old fashioned but he did have a tablet with a credit card scanner to act as his makeshift register. There was a thick binder with inventory and a little yellow pad to write down sales receipts if someone paid in cash and the register was down. Apparently he had one of those data chips that turned devices into hotspots so you didn’t need wifi, which was crucial to keep his electronics operating. He admitted to being more of a pencil and paper kind of man, but wasn’t about to let technology and as a result, business, leave him behind because he wasn’t willing to keep up with the times. 

You wanted to ask how old he was, since between his fashion sense and his odd attitude towards his tablet, one would think he was eighty, instead of...hm, fourty? It was hard to place his age. Something about him suggested he wasn’t too much older than you, maybe early thirties, but then in the same stroke, he also seemed straight out of a long ago decade. 

His system wasn’t too hard to figure out. He had everything neatly labeled in his large, loopy handwriting. Should the price fall off or become obscured, you could check the inventory book, which marked how many of something he had in stock, base cost and recommended sale price. Curiously enough, some didn’t have base costs, a query which earned a shrug and smirk. “Can’t a gent have hobbies?” And that was that. 

The morning flew by, as effortless as breathing, and by lunchtime, you were comfortable telling him that you could handle things if he wanted to go get lunch. Pushing the cart and making nice would be the hard part of this job. 

“Eh, waddabout yer, dollface? Aint yer peckish?”

“It’s fine. I’m not hungry!”

He squinted at yer and cocked his head, “Tha’ right? I’m not gonna be much impressed if yer keel over because yer hot and got low blood sugar or whatever.”

“I’m fine. Honest. I had a big breakfast.”

Mr. Price huffed and gave a slow nod, “I’ll be back in an hour.” As he passed you, he laid a hand on your shoulder, firm and comforting, “Yer doin’ great. Don’t let nobody tell ya otherwise.” And you wanted nothing more in that moment than to prove him right. You hadn’t known him long, but he was so far one of the kindest people you had met. A bit rough around the edges and he tossed around those endearments a little too casually, but there was an almost paternal inflection to it. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

And you would prove his faith in you valid!

With a long look over the sea and its clear-blue waters, you gripped the handle of the cart and began to push it along the shore. Wind snaked between your legs and flared your skirt, and for the moment, you felt like one of those movie stars on the silver screen.

That feeling lasted even when Mr. Price returned and the day faded into evening. The two of you made two sales, but strangely, he didn’t seem to mind the low numbers. But you supposed it made sense in its own way. He never said it outright, but you had a feeling he was a little like your mother, in that he was a big city man, and made his money there. Maybe he was secretly a retired ceo that made his millions and decided to spend the rest of his youth on the seaside. Questions for another day. Mostly, you spent the hours talking about yourself and the town. He wanted to hear about the pumpkin patch disasters and how you once caused the whole school to shut down because you were playing hide-and-seek during recess and hid a little too well then fell asleep in your hiding spot. He didn’t ask about your ‘reputation’ or push when you diverted the conversation away from sore spots like your parents. He just listened, occasionally making wry comments about his father and brother. “I love him, he’s my brother, but sometimes I wanna pull out the stick he has crammed up his...ehehehe. Never mind that.” It was nice.

“Whelp, it’s gettin’ dark. Yer should be scurryin’ home,” he pulled out his wallet and began to count bills. 

“W-wait, it’s only been a day and—”

“And yer said yer had five bucks to yer name yesterday,” Mr. Price said, arching a brow. “I may be a bit of a, heh, bonehead, but I’m not blind. Here. Pay fer yer hours worked plus commission. And no more skippin’ meals, understand.” In your hands were five crisp twenty dollar bills. You swallowed.

“What about taxes?”

Mr. Price shrugged and gave a nonchalant wave, “No need to worry ‘bout that. Not wit cash.”

You puffed you cheeks and propped your hands on your hips, “Are you paying me ‘under the table’ Mr. Price?”

He smirked, “I dunno whatcher talkin’ ‘bout. Now skedaddle home, missy. Bet yer ma is worried.”

Your shoulders dropped. Right. Your mother. She was so worried about this job opportunity. And sure, Mr. Price was clearly not doing this by the books, but he was just so...genuine. Like he really wanted to help and this was the best way he could think to do it. You tucked the bills away into your purse, “Thank you. Same time tomorrow?”

“O’course. See yer then.”


	3. Deal or No Deal?

“When you said he offered you a job, you didn’t say as a hooker.”

“MOM! No. It’s not like that.”

“What am I supposed to think? Do you know who deals in cash only? Sex workers and drug dealers, that’s who. And they shut down the one strip club years ago, so I know you didn’t make this dancing on a pole.”

You wanted to scream. So you did. You were both in the living room, so you dropped on the dated green couch that looked straight out of the seventies, picked up a frilly, matching decorative pillow, and smothered it over your face, letting out a frustrated shout. With that out, you slammed it on your lap and glared at your mother, who was staring you down, unimpressed by your childish outburst of temper. “I thought you would have been happy,” you muttered. “I found a job working with a genuinely nice man who paid my days wages in cash THIS ONCE because he knew I needed the money. Why do you always come to the worst conclusions about everything?”

Cold eyes shifted away, breaking the unspoken contest as your mother crossed her arms, clearly not done with the subject. Her mouth was pinched like she bit into an especially sour lemon, and she was a little pale, even dismissing the dim lighting from the overhead lamp. “Just tell me one thing. Did you sleep with him?” At your dropped jaw and baffled expression she continued, “Is he taking advantage of you? Did he make any kind of untoward gestures?”

“It really isn’t like that,” you said, anger sputtering away as you recognized her hostility for misplaced anxiety. “He hasn’t touched me or made me feel uncomfortable in the least.”

“This world is full of creepy old perverts. Ones who act nice just to get something out of you later. And you’re...you’re you.” There were two and a half decades of weight behind that last ‘you’. Naive. Scatterbrained. Overly trusting and clueless, you. The girl that your Nan said could have been kidnapped by faeries and went missing just enough times to make your mother wonder if one day you’d just be regular kidnapped. As if you had no sense of self-preservation at all. Well, they were wrong! You grew up and learned to ignore the Voice. Learned that the whispers weren’t friendly and the strange lights in the dark would only lead you astray should you take a walk at night. “We will figure something else out. I don’t want you going back to him.”

“He’s not some wannabe sugar daddy paying for my time,” you insisted. “Please. Trust me, mom. He’s a good man.”

A troubled, helpless look flickered over your mother’s face like a flash of lightning skipping between clouds, before hardening again, “I hope you’re right.” She swallowed. A slow, audible bob of the throat. “You are an adult, and I cannot stop you from going back, but don’t let him use money as leverage for ‘special favors’ you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly fine. You’ll see.”

She didn’t reply, just walked away, and you added another invisible tally mark to the number of times you’ve seen her back compared to her smile.

That night you struggled to sleep, haunted by fragments of dreams that slid like seafoam from your memory upon waking. When dawn came, the scent of saltwater lingered, as did a feeling of gasping for air that wasn’t there.

“Yer feelin’ alright, dollface?” Mr. Price asked. You’d arrived early to find him sipping from a thermos, staring out over the sea with the pensive longing of a sailor that had been done wrong by his watery mistress a time too many. And after greetings and pleasantries, he picked up on your strange mood. You couldn’t call him an unobservant man.

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll be fine once the coffee kicks in and I wake up all the way.”

“If yer say so,” he shrugged, accepting your explanation without further question. Instead, he took advantage of the morning quiet to coach you through sales techniques. If yesterday was a day to get your bearings and the both of you comfortable with each other, today was a day of learning, and Mr. Price was a savvy tutor. He talked about how to get a read on customers, and who to try to make a hard sale with, and who to take a more relaxed approach. “Get ‘em talkin’,” he said. “Women are yer number one customer. They are the one’s buyin’, but keep an eye and ear for mentions of a husband. If she’s ditherin’ and talkin’ ‘bout her man, then he’s the one holdin’ the purse strings. She won’t buy if he aint convinced. If he aint around, and there’s other customers, don’t put too much energy in sellin’ to her.”

And like the day before, the hours ticked by peacefully, a couple more sales made, though mostly by him as you observed and ran the register. It was fascinating watching him with people. There was an easy confidence, a deceptive casualness, to it all. Like he held the world in his hand and it amused him to do business with mere mortals. It was nice. And like previous evening, Mr. Price pulled out his wallet at the end of the day and began counting bills.

“You don’t have to do that. I can wait for a proper paycheck. The advance you gave me yesterday was more than enough—”

“Don’t be silly, sweets, 100 bucks aint gonna get yer very far. I saw what yer decided to call lunch, and it just made me hungry watchin’ yer eat a banana and half a sandwich. In fact,” he pulled out another twenty, “Take yer ma out to dinner. The diner on Palm St. has a two fer once special for burgz on wednesdays.”

“I can’t accept—”

He scoffed and pocketed his wallet, holding out your day’s wages between two fingers, “I jus’ want yer eat a proper meal and mebbe have a little bondin’ time with yer family. She’s all yer got left, right?” You blinked at him, the money terribly tempting. “Family is important. M’bro is all the blood family I got, but blood aint everythin’ always, so I believe in takin’ care of my people, related or not.”

“Then why do you care about me and my mother?”

“Toldja, I take care of my people. And as my employee, even if just fer a couple days, yer my people. I take care of ya, and by extension, yer ma. Capiche?” Mr. Price reached out and took your hand, laying the bills on your palm, his palms startling cool. His skin was always so cold. “And part of takin’ care of the both of ya, if making sure yer fed properly.” He pulled away and leaned against his cart, gaze never leaving you as you ambled back to your car, an uncertain feeling turning in your stomach. His generosity combatting with your mother’s words of warning. 

In the end, you didn’t tell your mother about the extra twenty, and instead just asked if she would like to go get burgers to celebrate your new job. To your surprise, she agreed. A night of greasy food served by a local highschool junior and cheesy music playing from a jukebox that still took nickels, was just what you needed to banish the discomfort. Mr. Price was right. This was nice. Even if the conversation was stiff and awkward, your mother pointedly refusing to mention your work or your employer, it was still the longest talk you had without bickering. She even bought you both milkshakes, promptly stealing the marocchino cherry from the top of yours with a smile and look of faux innocence. 

And though you slept just as uneasily as the night before, there was a skip to your step as you went to work. Mr. Price smirked like a cat that ate the canary with a side of cream, but politely didn’t dig for the root of your brightened mood. 

The routine continued like a dance, the steps of which you stumbled through, yet found came naturally with time. You readied yourself in a cute dress or skirt, with the pearl at your throat, and grabbed a cup of coffee every morning. And then you hurried to work where you spent the day roaming the seaside with Mr. Price, learning the art of the sale, and a little about how to make jewelry. He shamelessly picked up and examined shells when he spotted ones he liked on the shore, and once, he showed off a shark’s tooth he found before you arrived. And come evening, he would count out your day’s wages, no matter if either of you sold a thing, and insist on you going home with cash in hand.

Of course, the levity couldn’t last.

“Tomorrow you’ll be all on yer own,” he said. “I’ll meet yer with the cart in the morning, and be back at the end of the day. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t! I promise!”

He cocked his head at that for some reason, “And don’t leave the cart alone fer any reason.”

“Of course. Er, wait, what if I have to use the bathroom?”

“Go to the gas station we pass on our route. Harvey will keep an eye on it while yer take care of business in the loo.”

“And one last thing,” he held your gaze. “Wear yer necklace.”

You gave a small chuckle, “I think I can handle that.”

Oh what a sweet, summer child you were to think that everything would go as planned. That night, your dreams were twisted by the wail of a thunderstorm. Unlike the ocean that pleaded and the forest that made sweet promises, the storm shrieked of doom. Of destruction. How it would tear down your shelter and rend your body with lightning should you not answer its call. It didn’t succeed in its threats, but it did knock out the power...and your alarm. You woke in a panic, cold sweat soaking your body, when your mother knocked the back of her fist against your doorframe.

“Shouldn’t you be awake?”

You dressed in a flurry, swearing when you realized that you needed to be out the door five minutes ago in order to make it to work on time. Praying Mr. Price would be forgiving considering the circumstances, you checked yourself in the mirror, made sure the pearl was on your neck (breaking two promises at once just wouldn’t do!), and went to run out the house. Only to find your keys missing. Again. Since being hired by Mr. Price, your belongings remained blissfully unmoved, and now, today of all days, the resident hobgoblin decided to play his usual prank. “What do you want from me,” you asked the empty foyer. “I left out milk every morning like Nan said for weeks and you weren’t happy. Do you want coffee? Orange juice? Honey? Or do you just like seeing me suffer?”

“Are you still here?” your mother shouted from the kitchen.

“My keys.”

“Really? You lost your keys again?!”

Not wanting to have the usual argument, you went hunting. They weren’t in your shoes or above the door, nor between the couch cushions. You searched the fridge and the microwave and even the toaster. And where did you find them at last? Outside of course. In the birdbath. Keyfob completely submerged. Great. Just great. At least it still worked as a manual key even if you couldn’t pop the trunk or unlock the doors from a distance anymore. Fortunately your car didn’t decide to stall or you might have wondered if you were cursed or something. 

By the time you parked and flung yourself onto the shore where you usually met Mr. Price, it was almost an hour past your usual start time...and he was nowhere to be seen. Your shoulders dropped and like a knife had just plunged into your chest, pain lanced through your chest and lungs. You broke your promise. And probably broke his trust in turn. And you didn’t even have a chance to explain. 

He was just...gone.

 _You made a deal,_ whispered the Voice. You shut your eyes and tried to ignore it. But with every crash of the waves against the shore, the ocean repeated those words. _You made a deal. A deal. A deal._ Your fingers curled around the pearl. He would be back. If you were truly fired, he would want his property back. You drew in a slow breath, trying to quelch the anxiety rising and falling with every pulse of the sea. As you opened your eyes and stared out over the water, you were once more struck by that lifelong desire to follow what called you to it. To step into the ocean and let it swallow you whole, or to lose yourself in the wilderness on a moonless night. Slowly, you obeyed the impulse, shedding your shoes to walk barefoot into the shallows, the yearning only growing stronger. It hadn’t bothered you much when working with Mr. Price, but the very real possibility that he would fire you for this mistake, for proving the rumors right, that you weren’t dependable, it left you feeling raw. Wanting. Hoping.

Wishing.

“Sometimes, I really do wish those fairytales were true. That magic was real. It would explain so much but—” you faltered. You couldn’t explain your keys ending up in the birdbath, no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t explain the very real voices you heard or the terrible power they had over you. Your Nan said you were Touched. Your mother said you were touched in the head. Either way, you were too old for anyone to force therapy and medication on you without your consent. Not that you could afford either. “Right now I’d settle for Mr. Price not hating me.”

“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!”

You snapped from your stupor to see the bobbing, flailing shape of a boy, floundering to break the surface of a restless sea. No doubt the riptides were especially strong after that storm, and there was the threat of a second band looming low on the horizon, dark with the promise of rain. You looked around. This wasn’t the sort of beach to have lifeguards on duty at all times. Locals usually didn’t even swim here. There were nicer parts of the beach further down the road.

 _Mine,_ the ocean proclaimed, possessively, greedily. A wave broke over the boy’s head. With no other choice, you dashed deeper into the water, ignoring the cold that numbed your limbs and stole your breath. 

“HELP!” came the boy’s cry again.

 _Mine,_ repeated the Voice. 

There was no longer sand or stone beneath your feet as water crashed over both your heads. You broke the surface and began to swim. You swam to save his life. You swam to preserve your own. You swam to defy and deny the greedy water its gluttony. Thunder rolled low, mingling with the rush and crack of the churning waves. The boy bobbed up and stole a breath of air then sank again. 

_You made a deal. A deal. A deal._

“I’m coming!” you shouted.

_Mine._


	4. Drowning in Debt

You were four years old the first time your mother walked away. “Mama’s not feeling well,” she told you, and even in the haze of memory, you recalled fixing pb&j sandwiches and leaving one by her bed. A bed she spent too much time in. You’d been staying with Nan more days than not, and eventually, the guest bedroom became the backdrop to your childhood. She was an intermittent presence growing up. Sometimes too pale. Sometimes quiet. Sometimes bright with a rare joy. When you were eight you asked her about your father. You couldn’t recall ever seeing a picture of him. There was tension in the air before she looked away, the distance between mother and daughter already widening into the future chasm it would someday become. Avoidance like “It doesn’t matter” was eventually replaced with “You remind me of him sometimes” until one day she simply told you to stop asking. He wasn’t in your life and that wasn’t going to change.

She had a job in the big city and was very busy, was what Nan said when your mother’s visits became sparser, trickling down to the occasional holiday or birthday. The other children didn’t like you much, called you odd, called you other worse names you quickly learned the meaning of and reflexively buried down the shame. It was why you ended up spending so much time alone in the local park, playing by the river, searching for frogs and naiads. During flood season you weren’t supposed to get too close to the water, it was deeper than it looked. And on one of the rare days that other children were around, daring each other to get closer to the flooded banks, you tried to garner their approval. Tried to prove to them you were just like them and loudly vowed to step into the water. 

You didn’t expect to step on a muddy stone and lose your footing. Nor did you know why you fell forward into the river instead of backwards onto the shore. Greedily, the water grabbed you by the ankles and dragged you under. You lost all sense of direction. Up was down and down was up, dirt and debris clotting out light, precious oxygen burning away in tiny, ten-year-old lungs. The Voice bid you to close your eyes. And you did. 

You should have died.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t recall anything beyond that moment, the memory whisked away by the presumed trauma of the affair. 

Fifteen years later, fighting the current in a waterlogged dress to rescue a boy, you were struck by an eerie wrongness. As if you were pushing fate’s mercy by challenging the whims of mother nature for a second time in your life. You escaped the river unharmed. The ocean seemed in no humor to release its hold on either of you. Well, too bad. It couldn’t have you or the boy. Filled with a renewed sense of determination, you urged closer and closer to where you saw desperate fingertips scrambling for purchase they would never find. It was dangerous to try to rescue a scared swimmer, especially a drowning one, without proper training, but that didn’t cross your mind until little hands collided with your arms. He thrashed and pulled himself up, dragging you down with his weight until you could barely keep your head above water. “Calm down,” you pleaded, holding your breath as a wave crashed down, sending the both of you tumbling from the force. 

You tried to right yourself, to surge to the surface and gasp for air, but you couldn’t. You were sinking. The boy’s weight and struggling was dragging you both down. You tried to kick up, but your arms and legs were tangled. Despite the burn of saltwater, you opened your eyes to silently plead with the child to stop thrashing, but what you saw was no boy. It wasn’t even human. Wrapped around your limbs were appendages made of bone and staring up at you were glowlights like will-o-wisps floating within the sockets of an inhuman skull. Every instinct warred with each other. One said scream and another begged against wasting oxygen. Your heart didn’t get the memo and pounded harder. 

_Mine,_ whispered the Voice. _You have always been mine._ The ocean crooned with almost sensual satisfaction. Covetous. Like it won some kind of game and you were the prize. The creature tilted its wide, cartoonish grin as it continued to try to climb you, made harder by the fact that it most certainly did not have legs. No, instead, woven between your own, was the sleek, cool flesh of some kind of tail, feeling like what one might imagine a porpoise would but looking as if it were formed of bioluminescent jellyfish. The pale cyan was striking and unnaturally lovely and you shook away from the allure boggling your brain. The creature’s glow was obviously to dazzle prey. And it worked. Desperate for air, you began to writhe and kick, legs freeing from those strange fins, and landing a solid kick to the creature’s tail and pelvis. 

It hissed, smile splitting to reveal mostly blunt teeth and a set of terrifying canines. Phalange tips like claws dug into your skin, salt searing fresh wounds and your blood began to stain the water. You swallowed down the urge to scream, gaze cast to the light above. This was a slow, terrible way to die. The creature didn’t have the good grace to bite your throat out or stab you through the heart with a spear made of driftwood. No, instead, it was intent on dragging you down. Drowning you. No. NO! You kept kicking and kneed the creature in the jaw. Its grip slipped, perhaps from pain or surprise, and you didn’t care which. You flailed your arms and your legs, hoping to make contact with something other than the creature, to find signs of the surface or the sea floor. But no. The creature had dragged you away from the shallows and to where the ground dropped away, creating an invisible underwater cliff all too close to shore. 

You elbow connected with its arm, your foot found purchase on its pelvis again, and with a wild leap of faith, you used its oversized head as a launch point to find yourself back to the surface. 

The first gasp of air was a literal lifesaver. If only your limbs were less heavy from the cold water and your fight to breathe. Swimming to shore would be difficult, but it was better to try than just float and hope the creature didn’t just yank you back down. With a desperate zeal, you swam for safety, the ocean restraining your efforts, every wave and pull of the tides trying to drag you out or under. And you were tired. So tired. Tired enough to hallucinate a certain, familiar someone on the shoreline. Standing there in his suit and tie, cart at his side, was Mr. Price. 

“H-help!” you cried out, as loud as you could. Hoping, praying, that he heard you. And he obviously heard something as he tilted his head in your direction. Thank god. “Help!” You kept swimming, kept fighting, kept trying to find the ground beneath your feet so that you could better stagger to stony sanctuary and pretend this never happened. But as you drew closer, close enough that his features were more defined and less of a smear in the distance, thunder rolled and clouds blotted out the sun, slowly darkening the world. The last thing you needed was for it to start raining! “Help!” It was harder to keep your limbs moving. Heavy. So heavy. Each stroke of your arms was like lifting leaden weights. Another wave broke over your head, sending your tumbling, you dog paddled to the surface, sputtering and gasping on shortened breaths. You couldn’t tell if you’d swallowed water or if sheer panic was making it impossible to draw in a full breath. Maybe a bit of both, as you sputtered and coughed, sucking in a shallow breath before once more your head was under water. 

When you surfaced again, you fixated on Mr. Price. You had to get to him. You had to say you were sorry. Beg for his forgiveness. He said you were his ‘people’. You and your mother. And for all your problems with your mom, you wanted to see her again, wanted to hug her and try to mend the broken bridges that laid between you. You didn’t want to die. You wanted to sell handmade jewelry on the seashore and get to know your boss. You wanted to make them both proud. You. Wanted. To. Live.

With another lunge towards the beach, your feet found solid ground. You could stand! You were going to make it! Stumbling through chest deep water, the ocean still flinging you off balance like a wet newspaper in a gale, you called out to Mr. Price again. And this time, you know he saw you. He looked right at you. You went to wave him down when lightning cracked, the world backlit with a cold icy blue, the roar of waves overcome by a deafening clap of thunder. As you blinked through the light, clearing the spots, your heart near fell still. Staring back at you was not the easy-smiling man you’d come to trust, but a skull with hellfire gleaming in its abyssal sockets. You shook your head and Mr. Price was back to himself. 

Your brain and eyes were playing tricks. Exhaustion could do that. With safety so close, you almost forgot the reason you were floundering for your life. Right until something grabbed your leg right as another wave knocked you off balance. This time, you didn’t even have time to catch your breath. And this time, the creature didn’t curl around you like python looking for a nap. Instead it dragged you, rough, merciless, back into the depths and down. Down. Down. You tried you kick at it, but it grabbed your ankle, and with both legs in its grasp, and your energy depleted, you hardly had the strength to do more than clumsily pry at those phalanges as you were dragged further. 

Eventually, your ears screamed with pain, protesting the sudden change in pressure, as your lungs begged for air. You needed to breathe. You couldn’t. Your vision blurred and faded. You couldn’t keep up your struggles. Was this how it really ended? The creature released its hold on your legs and wrapped itself around your body again, the glows in its sockets smaller, sharper, and almost adoringly, it ran its hands along your cheeks, cupping your face a wicked mimicry of a lover’s touch.

_Deal. Deal. Deal._

You couldn’t stay conscious much longer. You needed to breathe. 

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

Its hands moved from your face to your throat.

_Breathe._

It pressed those teeth to your lips like a kiss. 

You breathed in.

_Give iiiiiiin._

And in those final moments, as the water invading your lungs should have killed you in silent, limp agony, something in your chest pulled and twisted and tore. With no further reprieve, you conceded once more to the Voice and gave in. Let that ripping sensation overtake your body, split your very self with pain beyond description. Like your bones were rearranging themselves and your skin was sloughing away only to form anew. It was too much. All too much. You succumbed to the welcoming dark of unconsciousness, not expecting to ever wake again.


	5. A Taxing Endeavor

_”She’s breathin’, that’s good.”_

Breathing? You were breathing? You were, weren’t you? In. Out. In. Out. The sudden awareness of every breath, the steady inflation and deflation of aching lungs, was surreal. 

_”When is she going to wake up?_

Two voices. The first was...familiar. The second, it was louder, higher pitched, impatient. It was then you were aware that you could not only breathe, but hear. Their voices, your own thoughts, your pounding heart.

_”Tibia-honest, I don’t know, and it don’t matter, cuz we aint pushin’, capiche? Leave her ‘lone, Dolphin.”_

There was a click of teeth. A distinct though unusual sound. And that voice. That familiar voice. A name floated and drifted until you managed to latch onto the thought like a liferaft. Mr. Price! 

_”I still like my plan better. Simpler. Faster.”_

The second speaker left a knot in your stomach. Those words, despite the youthful quality, were cold. Oh god, was your mother right? Was Mr. Price a kidnapper and this was his partner in crime?! What were they going to do to you? Carve you up and sell your organs on the black market?

 _”Shit, yer need to shut yer trap real tight ‘fore I shut if fer ya. Stars, her soul’s racing like a horse at the kentucky derby.”_

A cold hand touched your neck, though it wasn’t skin you felt against your own, but...leather? You wanted to open your eyes, to reveal the truth, but another part of you pleaded to remain ignorant, that if you didn’t fly too close to the sun, you wouldn’t get burned, no matter that your wings had long since turned to puddles of melted wax. As long as you stayed on this cusp of awareness and black nothingness, one could simply feign that everything was and until this point, a dream. 

_”Or yours when the one you’ve bet on starts to lag behind.”_

The hand didn’t pull away, only shifted to rest against your check.

_”Shuddup, pipsqueak, and make yerself useful. Go get Boss.”_

A huff and a splash signalled the other individual leaving. Silence fell and the gloved hand pulled away.

“I know yer awake, dollface. Yer lids are flutterin’ and yer breathin’ less even. ‘Sall right, yer safe, I’m here. I’ll take real good care of yer, like I have been. Yer my people. Just keep trustin’ me.”

At his coaxing, you drew in a long, slow breath and let your eyes open. It took a few blinks the clear the smeary haze on your vision, but soon, Mr. Price’s familiar, smiling face came into focus. The relief was short lived, however, as your brain latched onto a few strange, distressing details, and you curled back in primitive fear. His smile looked too wide, unnaturally so, teeth possessing an eerie sharpness. And his eyes. Those eyes you recalled struggling to meet, always lost under the shadow of the brim of his hat, burned down upon you with red irises. He looked like an uncanny parody of the man you knew, like a wax sculpture or a robot wearing a human suit. 

That smile dropped at the corners, those hellfire eyes narrowed.

He lifted a hand, gloved in worn, black leather, and you flinched, whole body lurching away...and toppling off the edge of whatever it was you’d been laying on. A shriek escaped, only to be cut off by weight clamping down on your chest, your fall abruptly halted. It was then you took a proper look around and at your own state. You were in some kind of cave, mostly indistinct save for the mushrooms glowing brightly on the walls, giving enough light that you hadn’t initially realized you were no longer outdoors. Beside you was some kind of medical cot that looked salvaged from a WWII film, with rusty legs and wet, yellowed linens, half of which were still wrapped around your lower body. You blinked, refusing to believe what you saw poking out from the other end of that bundle of damp sheets. You wriggled your toes and...and the fin twitched. 

“MY LEGS!” Ignoring the fact that yes, you were floating, and yes, you were in some random cave with Mr. Price’s creepy skin-wearing clone, you clawed off the knot of sheets to reveal your lower extremities. Poking out from beneath the sodden, ripped hem of your sundress was a tail. A fish tail. You yanked up the hem and revealed more smooth, scale-covered skin. Modesty be damned, you shucked it up to your waist and found that the scales of the tail started just below your naval, though along your sides, adorning your ribs, were stretches of skin that matched, gleaming and glittering, reflecting the cyan glow of the mushrooms like tiny mirrors. You unclenched tightly curled fingers and dragged your stare up, meeting Mr. Price’s hellfire eyes. “This...this can’t be real. None of this real. You’re not real. This place isn’t real. I’m not real. I’m still asleep and will wake up any moment now...or, or I almost drowned rescuing a child and washed up on shore and now I’m comatose in a hospital bed while my mother sits beside me, cursing my poor decision making skills. Or I’m dead...and this is hell. And you’re going to bring out a knife and turn me into sashimi while I’m alive and screaming.”

Mr. Price blinked twice in bafflement, “Uh...wild imagination yer got there, sweetheart. But no dice. This is real. Now let’s get yer back in bed and have a nice little chit chat before—”

“BROTHER! I HAVE BEEN INFORMED THE HUMAN HAS AWOKEN AND MY PRESENCE IS DESIRED.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something, before reaching out his left hand, and like a magician, guided you back onto the bed, “Easy, Boss, easy. The dame’s had a real big shock and don’t need you spookin’ her by shoutin’ the roof down on us. Why don’t yer go get gussied up, yeah?”

There was a splash and—

“I really don’t understand your fascination with the human act,” said the male voice from earlier—Dolphin?—the one that Mr. Price shooed away. Mr. Price looked over his shoulder, presumably whoever he was speaking too hidden from your view by his bulk. “Or is this just a way to get more time with her alooooone? She your lady friend, lover boy?”

“Kid, if yer don’t cut the shit and get dressed like Boss, I will pull your spine out through your fat mouth and use it to gouge out yer eyes.”

“Don’t call me kid!” Dolphin snapped back, apparently unbothered by Mr. Price’s rather graphic threat. “And spines are terrible for scooping out eyes. At least be civilized and use a spoon.”

“Yer not one to tell anyone how to be civilized, pipsqueak. Now scram,” There was an odd clatter and scrape, like...like bone on stone, like footsteps...then nothing. Just your pounding heart and breathing. Mr. Price cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, “Sorry ‘bout the language, dollface, the kid’s been nippy since he got his big boy teeth in, and he likes to test my patience. Yer had a bit o’ a shock, so how ‘bout yer lay back and rest fer the moment?”

How about no?

You stared at his over-wide smile for a moment longer, then flung the sheets on your lap over his head. He sputtered in surprise, giving you a chance to roll off the cot, letting your lower half flop to the floor first, and then dropping your upper half after. Your whole body felt strange and useless, but adrenaline did crazy things, like force your upper body to function with the might of ten men so your could drag yourself across the floor. It was cool and slick with water, surprisingly not grating against your...tail...which you tried to use to your advantage, but mostly just flapped ineffectively on the ground like a trained seal. You realized the error of your momentary impulsiveness when you realized that the water you assumed was nearby wasn’t in the direction you’d flopped. No brain, it was in the opposite direction, BEHIND Mr. Price, which meant more distance between you and freedom.

Undeterred, you scrambled on your belly away from the yawning chasm that led somewhere deeper in the cave, and to where you heard the sea lapping against stone. You managed to almost make it to Mr. Price when that weight grabbed you by the chest again, though this time, said weight came paired with the sensation of something being lodged THROUGH your torso. You instinctively froze. Whatever was put through you was suddenly pulled out, though the weight remained, and shiny black shoes came into your scope of vision. You trailed your gaze up to see slim-fitted black slacks, a shiny gold buckle and...another uncanny male face. Though where Mr. Price’s features were too wide, this man’s were too sharp, too thin, and he didn’t smile. And while you thought Mr. Price tall, this stranger had to have head-and-shoulders over him and it was all leg. 

What made his stare all the more eerie was the hellfire red iris on the right side of his face, paired with the unfocused white of the left, scars like jagged claw marks running from his cheekbone all the way into his hairline, where the ends vanished beneath a fedora. 

He crouched, expression hard, impassive, as he had the outright audacity to scoop you into his arms and carry you! “I LEAVE FOR FIVE MINUTES AND THE HUMAN IS ALREADY FLAILING ON THE FLOOR LIKE A FISH. HONESTLY, BROTHER, COULD YOU AT LEAST TRY TO MAINTAIN SOME SEMBLANCE OF ORDER WITHOUT MY ASSISTANCE?” You flinched at the loudness of his voice and its chilling implications. 

“I said ease up, Boss. Yer scaring her by being a loud mouth.”

‘Boss’ pinched his brows and narrowed his eyes in feline annoyance. If he had cat ears they would be laying flat, “Don’t be impudent, whelp.” He thankfully did stop shouting as he laid you back on the cot. Boss then grabbed the sheet from Mr. Price and curtly began to tuck it around your tail with the clinical efficiency of a nurse. You would have struggled, but that weight on your chest remained, heavy and domineering, making anything more taxing than breathing a tremendous effort. It smarted to be treated like a ragdoll. “This is how you properly secure the human,” he stated, poking a long finger between your brows and pushing your head against the cot, forcing you to stare at the ceiling. Asshole. “...What did you just call me?”

Oh. Whoops. Did you say that last thought out loud?

Mr. Price snickered and began to chuckle, much to Boss’ sour-faced displeasure, “C’mon, yer gotta admit, yer deserved that. The little lady is just bein’ honest.” And in a gesture that screamed ‘siblings’, Boss reached over the cot and tried to grab his brother, but Mr. Price easily side-stepped the gesture, poking out his tongue in defiance. It was terribly childish and would have been hilarious had you not been in the middle of what was either a kidnapping or an existential crisis. 

“And you call me a kid.” It was Dolphin. You jerked your head to the side to get your first look at the guy—

—and screamed.

Any sane person would.

Skeletons don’t stand up and walk around, and something about seeing one strolling around in suspenders and a bowtie was more unsettling than having one drown you. At least the second scenario could be explained by weird hallucinations caused by lack of oxygen to the brain or even faerie magic, but this was just weird and wrong and….and as you stared at that inhuman skull, with its blunt teeth and prominent canines, you realized where you saw those same will-o-wisp eyelights. The merskeleton. The one with its dazzling cyan tail and cold, dangerous kiss. Wait.

“What kind of creep kisses someone while drowning them!?”

Dolphin’s eyelights actually quivered, sockets looking overfull, before contracting a degree, void black encircling the peculiar orbs. His too-wide smile broadened and he shoved his hands into his pockets, ambling over to the cot like you hadn’t just called him out, “Mwehehe. Well aren’t you spirited, human? Kissing you wasn’t my idea, but I keep being told my plans aren’t satisfactory to all parties involved.” 

“I agreed with your plan,” Boss grumbled. 

“Four to two, yer were out voted,” Mr. Price said. “And yer lucky said human is here right now. Comin’ out here lookin’ like that when yer know yer wuzn’t supposed ta.”

Dolphin reached out and toyed with the pearl that somehow still laid at your collarbone through all this, “At least it knows what I actually look like. WHAT I actually am. I’m not pretending to be a landwalking meatbag. Then again, I guess your pretending makes sense, considering your pedigree.” He cocked his head to the side, “As does your fascination with said meatbags.”

“Excuse me, you discounted halloween decoration, this meatbag doesn’t exactly appreciate being called a meatbag!” You promptly attempted to bite his hand, but he pulled away, his features overcome with what was best described as youthful amusement. He certainly didn’t look like a kid. More like an older teen or freshman college student. But what did you know about skeleton mermaid aging? That was not a sentence you thought you’d ever ponder.

“Can I pull out its teeth?” Dolphin asked without preamble, still smiling in that boyish fashion.

“No, yer little psycho, you may not,” Mr. Price growled. 

“But it bites.”

“So do I. Try it and lose a hand.”

“Hm. Really?” Both male’s wore venomous expressions, and only one of them was smiling. “How interesting. Should I go tell the others the human is awake? Or would you like some time to—” He yelped as he was suddenly suspended in the air and tossed backwards, seemingly by nothing. Dolphin caught himself and staggered when his feet hit the ground. “You just keep confirming my suspicions.”

“BLUE, LEAVE US.”

Dolphin—Blue?—puffed his skeleton cheeks (how?) and walked backwards towards the dark depths of the cave, “Why do I have to be Blue? My magic isn’t even as blue as—”

“How ‘bout dust, yer like that better, kid?” Mr. Price retorted. 

“When this plan horribly backfires, you will realize I was right all along,” Blue shouted before disappearing. Once the darkness concealed him and the sound of his steps vanished, you realized that you were still alone with two very large, apparently not human, men. 

“Yer hurtin’ still I bet,” your former employer murmured. So gentle. It would have been comforting if you weren’t wondering if someone was going to start ripping off body parts and scooping out eyeballs. “Boss will help ya. He’s real good at healin’, aintcha bro?”

Boss stood a little taller, prouder, like a puffed up bird, “The best!”

“Damn straight, yer are.”

The weight on your chest released and the taller man reached out, as if to lay a hand above your heart. But he never touched you. Instead, there was a tug at your chest, a similar sensation to when you were drowning, but instead of tearing, there was warmth. A green glow emanated from his palm to settle like rain. It was...soothing. Like warm hugs and hot chocolate on a winter evening. It was kisses and snuggles and kittens. It left the taste of cinnamon on your tongue. You felt...relaxed and woozy. 

“Heh. Strong stuff, green magic. Why don’t yer take a quick nap, sweetheart. Nothin’ bad will happen while I’m right here.”

 _Liar,_ bad things already happened to you while he watched on.

He was one of the bad things.

And. You. Fell. For. It.

Thoughts wrapped up in the desire to go home, and the eerie whispers of the Voice, you let your eyes slip shut.

_You broke the deal. The deal. The deal. You’re mine. Mine. Mine._


	6. Hedging Your Bets

The first time you heard the Voice, you were little more than a babe in the crib. You couldn’t remember it, but Nan told the tale with both wonder and grim resignation. She said your mother couldn’t settle you, no matter what she did. No amount of cuddles and rocking or homemade remedies for colic soothed your distress. That is until your Nan took you out into the garden, beneath the full moon, hoping to let your mother catch a few minutes of sleep. Like a lightswitch, your cries sputtered off, and you stared with big, round eyes in the direction of the sea. Not at the flowers or the fountain, or the towering trees, or the flickering wings of nighttime insects. But out, away, towards the nothingness and blackness that lay beyond the garden wall, from which ocean breezes whisked away the summer heat. 

Nan didn’t quite know what it was then, but she said she was thankful she still had the cold-iron crib from when her daughter was a babe. Otherwise, there was no telling what mischief may have occurred that night. “I salted the doorways and windows,” she explained as she told her story, pointing at the horseshoe that hung above the entryway. “And ya Mam didn’t approve of me none hanging scissors over ye cradle or I’dda done that too. Keeps the fair folk away, it does, and they’ve a penchant for snatchin’ away babes from the cradle. ‘Course there shouldn’t be much o’ their kind hereabouts but…”

But she performed her rituals regardless. And as you grew older, you gained the ability to tell her what you heard, and her warnings grew more solemn as your confusion turned into tears, unable to understand why you were different. “Born too close to the veil, ye were,” she would murmur, brushing back your hair from your face. “Pregnancy was hard on ya Mam. Birthin’ even’ harder. And ye was so small even when we brought ye home. So small. Spend all the time ye can with the child, they said, she might not have long. But ye were such a fighter. And we wasn’t about to let ya go, not if ye weren’t ready.”

“Even Mama?” you would ask.

Her eyes would soften then and she’d kiss your brow, “Especially her. Now go play in ye room until bedtime. I think it best to stay out of the garden today. I’ll tell ye a story about when I was a wee girl to help ya sleep.”

_Wake up~_

If only she was still alive. Maybe one of her tricks or charms could have kept this from happening. Then again, you were the fool too easily tempted by the unknown and unknowable. By that thing most easily called magic. 

_WAKE UP!_

Heart racing, your eyes snapped open as you jackknifed up, sheets pooling around your waist in faux modesty. Poking off the edge of the cot, staring you back in the face, was the undeniable proof that all that happened earlier wasn’t a dream. A tailfin. 

“so this is the human,” drawled an unfamiliar voice, drawing your attention to a figure emerging from the gloom. _Lies do not deceive ones that know the truth,_ whispered the Voice, lacking the possessiveness of the ocean, though with no less intent. Was it the stone? The shadows? As the figure stepped fully into the light of the glowing fungi, you were confronted by the terrible realization that you were trapped in a cave with MULTIPLE skeletons. This one was a little taller than Blue, though it was hard to tell if he was broader or not given his bulky, poorly-fitted apparel. Compared to the crisp lines of slacks and suits you’d seen before, he looked like he’d gone to the second hand store and bought what happened to be on sale rather than what was to his size...and then proceeded to sleep in the outfit he chose.

Baggy, navy pants crumpled at the ankles, where ridiculous, fuzzy pink slippers peeked out from underneath dragging cuffs. The tails of an offwhite dress shirt hung half-tucked into the waistband. Two halves of a faded blue vest, similar to Mr. Price’s red one, clung together by a single button pushed through the wrong hole so the front laid misaligned. His tie matched his slacks and looked hastily shoved into the top of the vest, ready to spring free at any moment. Over all this was a rumpled, modern-style, royal blue trench coat, front open and the belt dragging on the ground. And bringing it all together? A navy hat perched upon his cartoonish skull. Beyond the outfit, the main difference between this skeleton and Blue were the entirely blunt teeth and lazy, hooded sockets. His eyelights were also white and far smaller, and dark grey marks were seared beneath his false eyes as if bone could develop bags from sleep deprivation.

“heh. like what’cha see, darlin’?” His tone was nonchalant, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, and life was just one big joke that nobody escaped alive. He winked, but something about his smile was uncanny. If he were human, you’d say it didn’t reach his eyes. “or you’se just lost for words? because it’s real polite to say hello to a fella whose house you’se in.” House? This was...his house?! Cave. Den. Lair. Those were more suitable words for this wet, stony place. 

“She just woke up, give her some time to wake up ‘fore yer pull yer shtik.” Mr. Price stepped into view, still looking eerily human. 

“what can i say, i can’t help m’self. judgement is my middle name. being judgemental is my favorite game...well, next ta poker. humans did real well inventing that,” the other skeleton rolled his shoulders and drew to a stop as two other figures emerged from the gloom to stand at either of his sides. Both were lanky and leggy like Boss, but where one was standing up straight with an alarmingly cheery smile and a violently orange scarf peeking from under his jacket, the other was slouched, smoking, and wearing clothes that were wrinkled worse than Mr. My Middle Name Is Judgement McGee’s. “we all here?”

“...Assuming the kid is followin’ yer.”

“I’M NOT A KID!”

“There he is.”

Blue (or Dolphin, or Kid, or whatever it was this guy was called in one conversation) flounced his way forward, idling to stand beside the smoking skeleton, his smile twisting into puppyish disapproval, “Must you smoke those? They’re nothing but polluting garbage.”

“chill kiddo, let lucky have his luckies.”

Before the smallest skeleton could act on that look of pure, primitive ‘fight’, the smiley one broke from formation to pick him up, utterly unfazed by the resulting chomp he received on the forearm. “WHILE I AGREE WITH YOU, STRIKER, THAT LUCKY’S SMOKING IS A TERRIBLE, LOATHSOME HABIT OF UNPARALLELED DEGREE, I MUST DISCOURAGE YOU FROM ASSAULTING MY BROTHER. IT WOULDN’T TURN OUT ANY BETTER THIS TIME THAN LAST AND WE HAVE A GUEST WHO MAY NOT BE PARTIAL TO SEEING BROKEN BONES. AND I DO NOT FEEL LIKE CLEANING MY SPECIAL ‘GET ALONG TIME’ BAT.” If possible, he was louder than Boss, but with a less gravely edge to his voice. Blue—Striker? You were seriously going to lose track at this rate—released his hold on the larger skeleton’s arm and clicked his teeth.

He received a click back in return. Was that some kind of skeleton communication thing?

Lucky—at least _he_ seemed to have one name—dropped the last embers of his cigarette and ground what remained under the heel of his ratty converse sneaker. He hadn’t said anything thus far and that didn’t change as he drew his gaze away from chaos to look at you. There was a tiredness to him that the lumpy brown jacket and wide-brimmed hat just seemed to amplify. And like the smallest skeleton, at the corner of his mouth were enlarged canines, though his small, narrow sockets were empty of any eyelights. He cocked his head to the side when he caught your stare and flashed a smirk that made you feel like someone had just offered you up on a platter with soy sauce. 

“CAN WE GET A MOVE ON BEFORE I LOSE MY THINNING PATIENCE?!” Boss snarled from behind you, tone reminiscent of a drill sergeant with fresh recruits. 

“holdin’ up that glamor wearin’ down your _edges_ , edge?” 

“I refuse to respond to such lowbrow attempts to instigate a confrontation.”

“it’s called a joke, buddy boy. not my fault you is _sans_ a sense of humor.”

“I KNOW WHAT A JOKE IS, YOU SENSELESS BUFFOON! YOU SIMPLY AREN’T FUNNY!”

The other skeleton shrugged before ambling ahead of the two taller ones and the runt with a confusing grocery list of nicknames. Mr. Price bristled as he reached the cot in which you sat, stiff and confused, still having said not a word, mute in the wake of the situation. Sometimes, it is better to keep one’s mouth shut and listen than act in haste. Acting in haste was how you ended up here in the first place. Well, that and trusting in a deal that was too good to be true. “easy, big red, i’m not gonna hurt the lady. that’d be counterproductive, and ya know i don’t like makin’ things harder than they hafta be. too much work.” Mr. Price grumbled something under his breath but didn’t interfere. While Boss was well, called Boss, something told you that you were now looking at the skeleton in charge. Now, in a normal exchange, this was where a guy would offer a handshake and introduce himself. But no.

He instead tugged off the sheet and looked you over with an unchanged expression. He didn’t linger anywhere long...until he reached your chest. You felt your face heat up. What. The. Hell? He was just staring! “My eyes are up here, _Mister Middle Name is Judgement_.” If you laid the sarcasm down any thicker, you’d choke on it. The jerk had the audacity to chuckle and continue staring, though you swore you saw a flash of color in his left socket, but you blinked and nothing but small, white lights.

“i’m aware of where ya eyes is, babe, but as ya pointed out, i’m the judgy type,” he flicked his eyelights up. Cold and flat. “and ya done broke a deal ta get where ya are, so don’t be thinkin’ you’se got any ground to stand on in this here ocean. 

Your body curled, eyes darting from face-to-face, floundering the realization that you were surrounded, outnumbered and trapped. And not only were you trapped in terms of being a hostage to these skeleton creatures, but trapped in this body that you couldn’t make work right. Your brain raced to sort what they could possibly want or how this could have happened. All that came to mind was one of the many warnings from your Nan that she herself learned growing up. About the fair folk. The hidden ones. They fae. 

_”Names are power to them. Never give ye true name to a fae or it’ll be nigh impossible to escape one that’s got its sights on ye. Only way to get away is to find out their true name and banish them yourself.”_

_”Careful with the fair folk, child, they are tricky beasts with different morals than us humans. They speak a language of riddles and tricks, and barter in promises. Even if they don’t know ye name, they can trap ye just as easy with one of their deals. They always hold up their promises, but bartering with one...well, it rarely ends well. Just be careful to never break a vow, no matter how small. If ye tell the sprites in the garden ye will leave out milk every morning, ye better do it, or the may do worse than a lil mischief._

_”Whatever ye do child, don’t eat their bread or dance with them in their glens. Or fall asleep listenin’ to their music. If ye find yourself in a fairy circle, leave as quick as ye can. Unseen if possible. Or ye may be trapped on that side of the veil forever...or wake and find a hundred years have passed. Always be cautious.”_

Nan never explained how one dealt with broken deals that ended up with one kidnapped by mermaids and transformed in a traumatic fashion.

“It was an accident,” you croaked out eventually, emotions welling in your throat. Half of you wanted to sleep until this all went away and the other half wanted to test your luck by shoving your fist in this guy’s eyesocket. “Someone hid my keys.” She looked at Mr. Price, his betrayal stinging with fresh rawness. “But maybe it wasn’t an accident. You planned it. I was stupid enough to trust you and you sabatoged me! What did I even do to you?! To any of you!?” Your volume rose, pitching higher and higher with manic distress. 

Mr. Price opened his mouth but shut it, looking chided. An act. It was all an act. Faeries couldn’t feel the same emotions as humans. They didn’t understand their mortality or feel empathy for them. It was a mask. Just like the human guise he wore. 

“BROTHER, I BELIEVE THE HUMAN IS BECOMING NEEDLESSLY UPSET. WHY DON’T WE ALL TAKE IN A BREATH, CALM DOWN AND INTRODUCE OURSELVES. I AM CERTAIN ALL WILL BE FINE ONCE THE HUMAN UNDERSTANDS WHAT BREAKING A DEAL, EVEN UNINTENTIONALLY, ENTAILS FOR HER.”

The ‘judge’ shrugged at the smiley guy, “this is why you’se the smart one, bro.”

“NYEH! OF COURSE!” Smiley adjusted his suspenders and strutted up, striking a pose beside his brother. “HUMAN, I AM THE GREAT AND COMPASSIONATE, MERCY! AND THIS IS MY BROTHER, KARMA.”

“first name karma, middle name judgement, last name ‘will chase ya down if you’se get to thinkin’ any bright ideas’.”

Mercy gave a long, exaggerated sigh, “YOU HAVE ALREADY MET CHERRY.”

“I will end yer, creampuff.”

“BUT I SUPPOSE YOU PROBABLY KNOW HIM BY PRICE.”

“yeah, like butch-er price,” chimed in Karma.

Butch. Price. Butcher Price. Price had the grace to flinch when he caught your stare.  
“THE SMALL ONE IS STRIKER, AND THE ONE THAT WILL NOT QUIT HIS TERRIBLE SMOKING HABIT IS LUCKY.”

“i’ll call the dolphin that when i dust.”

“I can help that process along, _Cherry_.”

“I WILL END YOU BOTH,” growled Price’s brother.

“THE TALL AND NOT QUITE AS HANDSOME AS ME FELLOW IS—”

“Boss,” he gritted. “You will call me nothing else, understand?”

“How about I just call you all crazy?” 

“I ASSURE YOU, HUMAN, I AM PERFECTLY STABLE. NOW, I BELIEVE INTRODUCTIONS HAVE BEEN MADE, SO DOWN TO BUSINESS, YES?” Mercy kept that unshifting smile.

Any considerations of protest died a short, bitter death on your lips. This may very well be your best chance to learn what you could about your condition and plan a proper escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Lucky and Striker are both references to 'Lucky Strikes' which were the top selling cigarette brand in the 1930s  
> \+ Price is a reference to the saying 'If the price is right'
> 
> I hope the introduction of many nicknames isn't too confusing, but there is a reason (which I hope I made evident) why none of the crew go by Sans or Papyrus.


	7. Getting down to business

“What do you all want?” conceding that they likely wanted something in return for the debt they kept reminding her of, the best possible thing to do was cut to the meat of the details. “Actually…” you looked at Price, made sure he caught your stare. “What do you want, Butcher? You are the one who I made a promise to, not them.” _You’re the one that did this to me._

Price gave a raggled exhale and covered his face with his hat, “I didn’t do none of this to yer, sweetheart.”

“Oh, right, I did it to myself,” was your deadpanned reply. He didn’t uncover his face. Not for a long heartbeat. “Sorry for thinking maybe you had it in you to tell the truth.”

“Oi!” Price crumpled the hat to scowl at you, hellfire eyes almost human with hurt. “I never lied to yer. Not once!”

“You said me and my mom were your people and you’d take care of us,” you curled your hands and tore your eyes away from the gathered creatures. “Funny how one of your friends tried to drown me and because of some deal I was tricked into, I’m now half fish!” Calm down. You were losing your head. Quiet. You needed to quiet down and learn about your situation, not scream until you turned blue. “Liar.”

At this, you heard laughter. It was Striker snickering like the dolphin Price kept calling him. “I didn’t try to drown you,” he stated oh-too-cheerily. “I succeeded! Or you would not have that tail at all. I mean, as funny as it is to watch you make _Cherry_ squirm like an eel in a tidepool, he can’t take all the credit for your greatly improved physique.”

“I LIKED MY LEGS YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!” That wasn’t keeping your cool. At all. He kept that happy grin as you pinned him with a glare, almost liked he found you screaming at him amusing. Like a child picking a fight. No wonder Price called him a kid. Adult or not, he was a brat. “How did you...you…”

“Alter your form?” his unhelpful comment was followed with a shrug. “Told you. I drowned you. I didn’t _do_ anything else. Well, aside from kiss you. But I was ordered to do that… I still have no idea why you humans partake in the activity as you do. It wasn’t especially interesting.” He then had the gall to sigh, “Still, if we had been following my plan, you wouldn’t have woken up to complain. Far more efficient to just take what doesn’t belong. to. you.” His smile dropped and his sockets went dark. 

“that’s ya problem, kiddo, too short-sighted. never seein’ the big picture for what it is,” Karma said. “sure, we coulda ripped out her soul like a bunch’a brutes, but then what do we got? a dead human and—”

“All that matters is the soul,” Blue interjected. He pointed at you, “She doesn’t need to be alive. That’s how human souls work.”

Great. Apparently skeleton mermaids collect souls for some reason. Maybe they ate them? Were they the grim reapers of the ocean and dragged the souls of the damned to hell? You never heard any myths about merfolk like that, but then again, all you really knew about mers was their habit of luring sailors from their ships or the docks so they could drown and devour them.

“shut it, striker, last warning,” Karma said and Striker crossed his arms and fell reluctantly silent. He then pinned that easy, cold grin back on you, “kid does have a point. you’se aint missin’ legs because of the deal ya made wit price.”

“NOPE! YOU DON’T HAVE LEGS BECAUSE HE CURSED YOU!” Mercy chirped before tapping his chin, “THOUGH I SUPPOSED IT ISN’T CURSING IF IT DOESN’T HARM THE INDIVIDUAL. WHAT DOES ONE CALL A BENEFICIAL CURSE…?”

“Pointless,” muttered Boss. 

“I, uh, don’t have a good explanation fer that one.”

“More like you don’t want to explain,” Boss pinched his brows. “In the name of not standing here for the next eon, let it be known that this,” he flicked the pearl at your throat. “Is why you don’t have legs at this moment. Though it is a catalyst more than anything given you are alive and if the circumstances were different, you would be quite dead.” Was it even a real pearl? “Mermaid’s Tears are exactly that. And merfolk are not prone to blubbering. These are, in fact, extracted through the torment of our kind, and carry the essence of the one who shed the tears. Any who have one on their person are beacons to merfolk.”

“And we drown them!”

“Cease your interruptions.” The growl earned a guiltless pout in return. “However, that is true. Those wearing tears are to be drowned.”

“Then I’m dead?”

Karma shook his head, “nope. you’se alive.” That fixation with your chest returned, more intense than before. “because of that pretty lil soul in ya.” He reached out and tapped your collarbone. “aint you lucky to be so special? Heh.”

Your head was swimming and you were torn between yelling at them and trying to figure out if maybe going to sleep and waking up again would fix everything. Because according to the walking, talking skeletons, souls were not only real, but apparently they could be ripped out of you, and there was something about theirs that they wanted, one way or another. Likely whatever that was also turned you into a mermaid when you were drowned, which may or may not also be related to the pearl Mr. Price gave you early which was apparently a cursed object. And to top it all off, there was a broken deal and unexplained plans.

“...I...I demand to know what you are extracting from the deal you tricked me into, Butcher!” They all went silent, as if confounded by your audacity to redirect the conversation. Bastards. All of them. 

“No need to call me that, doll—”

“Answer. Me,” you flopped that unwanted tail to emphasize your point. “After everything you’ve done to me. All the tricks...I think you owe me this.”

Price flicked his gaze to the others. To Boss. To Mercy. To Lucky and Striker. And lastly, to Karma. They locked stares for a moment before he grimaced and nodded, “Tibia-honest, this...this wasn’t how it wuz all s’poseda happen. I...it wuz too soon. Just, when yer didn’t show up on time...a bargain came into effect. I’m just as bound by a deal as yer. And the cost of a broken deal wuz equal to what was promised…Yer didn’t show up to work on time, like yer said yer would, so the cost from me wuz...” His shoulders dropped. “Not showin’ up on time when yer needed my help. No more or less than what yer did yerself.”

A bit of manic laughter bubbled out of your throat, “That...that’s it? That was ALL you did? What about cursing me? What about setting me up to be drowned and taken hostage by Tiny McNapoleon Complex and Friends? How is this equal?! How did you not lie? You aren’t guiltless in any of this!”

“what’s done is done,” Karma stated. “what matters now is that you’se here now and you aint goin’ back to that little life o’ yours.”

It took every ounce of self control no to spit in that smug skull of his. The shock of him being a skeleton was wearing off. Maybe you good land a good loogie in his socket. As if reading your mind, he leaned back. Smart man. “I don’t see how you can hold me,” you said. “The debt I owed was repaid when your buddy let your other friend drown me.” You twisted a hand into the sheet on your lap and ripped it away, flinging it pointedly to the floor, trying to ignore your trembling hands. They outnumbered you. They were bigger, stronger and most of them had an eerie, almost predatory air to them. Killers. To fae, humans were amusements at best and prey at worst, and merfolk were known for their particular diet of flesh. Dolphin especially looked like he was willing to use those canines to rip out your throat.

Karma, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of guy that didn’t like getting his hands dirty. Like he’d prefer watching someone else tie you up by the ankles and drop you off the end of a short pier rather than bother doing it himself. 

As you tried to throw yourself off the edge of the bed again, Price stopped you, looping his arms around your middle in an almost desperate embrace. Like he actually cared. Nothing but a trick. He didn’t feel real emotions. It was all an act. A horrible, terrible trick. Unable to help yourself, pushed to your limits and honestly frightened for your very life, you swung your arm and elbowed him in the face. There was the odd sensation of jelly-like resistance then it tore, and a shudder rippled through you as you realized your elbow was embedded in his face. You peeked over your shoulder to see that the facade had shattered, and your arm was lodged into a socket black as pitch. His whole body twitched and a hiss escaped sharkish teeth, and with surprising gingerness, he extracted the limb from his skull and laid you back on the cot. 

The socket you struck was cracked, a chalky dust crumbling away where bone was trying to shatter apart. 

Boss growled, a pure, animalistic noise, but Price held up a hand and glared best he could when he was obviously in tremendous pain, “It’s fine. Deserved that. But yer know what they said, dollface, an eye fer an eye, and the whole world goes blind.”

“The human would be much easier to manage if we extracted its eyes.”

“Dolphin, if yer don’t keep yer gob shut, yer brother will be pickin’ yer dust outta the seafoam.”

Price straightened, “I know yer don’t believe me, sweetheart, but this really wasn’t how it was supposed to go. But yer aint in any danger, I swear, these idiots may talk big but—” A single hellfire eyelight dropped to her chest, like Karma, “yer holdin’ the cards now.”

“Now look who is being counter productive,” Boss grumbled.

“Her bein’ afraid of us aint gonna make the plan any easier!” Price snapped back before flinching, his injury flaking more dust. “Stars above that smarts.”

“Well screw you and screw you plans, I’m leaving.” And with that, you lurched again, but Lucky was suddenly between you and freedom, catching and swinging you around like a dance. He gave what was best described as a look of pity, before ambling towards the water. The others just let him carry you. 

“OH DEAR, ARE YOU CERTAIN THAT IS THE WISEST COURSE OF ACTION?” Mercy almost sounded concerned. Lucky nodded, having yet to say a word, and not appearing to be planning on speaking up any time soon. He lowered you into the shallows, like one might a child into a pool, and then tugged a little less than innocently at your torn and crumbled sundress. You felt you face heat as you slapped his hands away and he backed off shrugging, a cigarette suddenly in his phalanges, pulled from who knows where. He twisted it between his fingers, before tucking it unlit between his teeth, and waving. 

This...you didn’t trust this one bit.They tried so hard to keep you in that cot, away from the water, and here Lucky was putting you back in it? If this was some reverse-psychology bull you weren’t buying it. No, this was your bid for freedom! With one last look at the skeletal faces of the mers, you grabbed the pearl at your throat and tore it off, throwing it at Lucky’s feet before diving under the water.

You were going home. One way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
> Just to clear up some of the confusion I see in some of the comments, fae/faeries/fair folk are a generalized term for the supernatural in this fic. High Fae, elves, nymphs, dryads, goblins, mermaids, etc. are all types of faerie or known as faeries. It is also established that the MC has had encounters with fae over the years, but because of glamors and other factors, may not have /seen/ them. She has also described the Voice as coming from different places, be it the forest, the river, the storm or the sea. She doesn't know if these are different being, she simply is /aware/ of what is being said and is calling to her. MC is established as being receptive and thus vulnerable to magic and its influences. 
> 
> \+ The Mermaid's Tear being a created by the torment of a mermaid is, funny enough, a reference not to any paticular mythology, but from a video game. Any guesses? Those who follow me on tumblr may have a clue since I only reference a couple games there. 
> 
> \+ Some people wondered how the deal was at all fair. MC was late to work. How did that warrent being transformed? Well...it didn't. ;) Curses and faerie deals, however, all have a habit of turning out /worse/ for humans. Sometimes even getting what is promised to you by a fae is akin to a genie's wish. You get what you asked for, not always what you wanted.
> 
> Enough rambling! Until next time.


	8. Betting Against the House

_”Nan, what should I do if I ever end up in a faerie ring, or, or, wander into one of their parties in the forest by accident?”_

_”Oh child, I pray such never occurs. Escaping the faery world is fraught with dangers for those who aren’t as open to its allure as ye. But if ye do find y’self in the realm of the fair folk, be wary. Never call for help, the one that comes ye will be indebted to, even if they do not aid ye as ye wish. Never follow the lights, they lead only deeper into the mists and into danger. There is no true right way out, for direction has no meaning, all ye can do is walk and be quick about it. Depending on when ye stumbled through the veil, ye may not ‘ave long at all. In the night ye ‘ave till dawning. In the day, until sundown. Wander too long and ye may be forever lost.”_

_”What if I meet someone in the mists?”_

_”Ignore them if ye can. Answer any query quick and direct, leave no opening for bargain or conversation. Take no food nor drink nor slumber. Cover ya ears if ye hear music. But do not run. Never run. Determination and patience alone will see ye free.”_

_Sorry Nan. I messed up so much already. But these aren’t much like the fair folk in your stories._ And that was the only hope you had left to cling onto as you slipped beneath the water. Swimming, you realized, didn’t come naturally, your brain programmed with 25 years plus however many generations of bipedalism. But where one instinct failed, another took over, and with wide scoops of your arms, you managed to position yourself in the water, and with a little effort, you flopped that new tail to propel yourself forward. It was awkward, difficult and quite frankly, inefficient. But you kept pumping your tail and churning your arms until you had a system, your new biology granting you a greater lung capacity, as you didn’t feel a burn for air as you learned to control your new form. 

What you did feel, however, was the drag of your clothes. Lucky’s reach for the cloth suddenly making sense. It was heavy and ungainly in the water, billowing out to slow you down even further. And in the dark, it snagged on unseen rocks or debris, forcing you to free yourself. It wasn’t long before, in a moment of spite and frustration, you gave up on all attempts at modesty and wrestled out of the dress. You were already a scandal in town. What would running around in nothing a watter-logged bra do to it? Make them think you’re crazy? That was an already established theory.

You considered abandoning the garment, but after deciding that just maybe it would come in handy if you did make it out alive, you knotted it into a less cumbersome bundle at your waist. It was still ungainly, but far less disruptive to your attempts at swimming. Now...onward! You navigated the darkness through touch, time free of all meaning as you searched for an exit. Rock. Rock. Shell. (Sharp! Now you’re bleeding, you can feel the salt sting at the injury.) Stick. Rock. CRAB! Bubbles hissed past your teeth when powerful pinchers clamped onto a finger. It didn’t want to let go and you didn’t want to hurt it, but you have no idea what state the poor creature was in by the time you pried it off and flung it away. 

Great. Just great. Not even out of the stupid underwater cave yet and you were already a mess. Biting back the urge to curse, you persevered, unhappily squeezing through ever narrowing tunnels, the path forward leaving behind bruises and more tiny cuts on exposed flesh. 

What could have been hours later, you saw it. Light. A beautiful, alluring beacon after so long in the dark. 

_Never go towards the light, it will lead ye astray._

But did you have any choice? To go backwards was not an option, and there was a growing ache in your lungs. With a soft apology to your Nan, you swam out of the darkness and into the light. There were no jellies or other creatures casting entrancing glows. Just the sun above, meaning you were close to the surface. It was eerily still, the open water, though a small school of fish did break the seemingly lifeless scene. Maybe it was the slight murkiness to the water that made it hard to orient yourself or lingering nerves from an experience that would need a decade of therapy to sort out. Regardless, you push upwards, weary but hopeful. A little longer. Then you would be free. The details of that freedom could sort themselves out later.

After what felt like an hour, you broke the surface, dizzy from lack of oxygen, but alive. Long, desperate gulps soothe the persistent ache, and after the stars behind your eyes are blinked away, you looked around. Nothing. Just vast, open water and a slowly setting sun. You were...out? You weren’t in the faerie realm anymore...right?

 _Mine. Mine. Mine._ murmured the Voice with the same, ebbing possessiveness as when the ocean made its initial claim. 

“I have to go home,” you whispered back. “I don’t belong here.”

Laughter, childlike and shrill, carried on the wings of a seagull, teased against your ear, _Always mine. Stayed too far, too long. Home now._

 _Home, home, home,_ echoed in perfect rhythm with your heartbeat.

But where was home?

If you were still trapped beyond the veil, then direction didn’t matter. You only had to swim. But if you were back in the mortal world, then you needed to get to shore. Either option required finding land before dark. Taking a mental note of the direction of the setting sun, you turned and headed in the opposite direction, hoping it was the right choice. Sure you were tired and it was difficult to keep straining your exhausted body, but there were no other options. You had to move. You had to go. You had to try.

It was tempting to shout for help, to scream your stress and distress into the unfeeling void, but no. You couldn’t waste energy like that, or risk attracting attention. Your eyes searched the sky and the horizon. Planes. Boats. Land. Anything. But all you saw was the occasional bird. (You weren’t a survivalist. What use were those skills when you were essentially banned from any kind of camping or non-urban adventure? But regular folks survived being stranded at sea. You could do this!) 

The sky was nearly dark, just the last embers of dusk burning across the water, when hopefulness turned into ire. “Let me go!” you shouted. “I want to go home!” The wind whispered droplets of water from your cheeks and the sea was silent. “Please.” As the world plunged into darkness, just a scattering of stars and the light of the moon as guidance, you saw it. Twin dots of red staring back. “No. Nonono. Go away!” Fatigued and lost, you took in deep lungfuls of air, then dove, scrambling blindly, uncaring of where you ended up as long as it was away from those lights. You didn’t notice a large shape closing in on you. You noticed nothing but your own building terror until it happened. Pain. You screamed. You screamed in bloody agony, bubbles spewing from your mouth as teeth sank into the flesh of your tail. Ripping. Shredding. Deadly. You struggled, slamming your fists against the threat until you wrenched free. 

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

You were bleeding.

So.

Much.

Saltwater seared the fresh wound.

A word of warning that most who grew up near brackish, coastal waters knew came to mind like a helpful little flashcard. Beware of sharks during dusk and dawn. But you weren’t near the coast...were you? Was this a bullshark? Or were you in deeper water where tiger sharks roamed? And here you were, a nice, injured, sluggish, half-fish creature, perfect to prey upon. Shouldn’t you be panicking? Maybe it was the sudden blood loss or the fact you’d expelled most of the air in your lungs, but it was terribly hard to feel anything beyond pain and a desperate itch to breathe. 

_Help. I don’t want to die._

You struggled back towards the surface, swallowing short gasps when you broke through. 

_I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Mommy. Nan. Somebody. Anybody._

Red met your stare. Twin burning flames in the merciless dark. You want to tell him off, but your tongue is heavy and stuck to the roof of your mouth. The lights drew closer and suddenly, you’re encompassed by a faint, crimson glow. Curled half around you was Price, but no longer wearing his fake human skin. He was a skeletal monster like the others, with ruined ribs that shimmered faintly through every chip and crack, as if lit from within. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you’re safe now. I’ll take it from here. Yer were so brave, fighting off that shark. But you don’t gotta be brave no more. Just gotta hang on to me.” Tears sprung hot into your eyes. If he was here, then you hadn’t escaped the faerie world. Or maybe Nan’s stories were wrong. Or maybe he wasn’t playing fair. “Shit there’s a lotta blood. We’ll be attracting predators if we stick here, dollface.”

“Leave me ‘lone,” you slurred.

“can’t do that. yer my people, toldja.”

“M’not. Liar.”

“Stay awake for me, yer can hate me later.”

Against your better sense and wishes, your head dropped against his shoulder when he gathered you into his arms, “I left.” 

“It’s....it’s not that easy, sweetheart. I...I wish it wuz. I really, really do.” For a dirty cheat and liar, Price sounded repentant, like he actually wished you could have escaped, but knew from the start that you were playing a game you’d lose. Even gambling men know they can’t win betting against the house. It always takes more than it gives, the decks stacked in its favor. “Let’s get’cher home.”

“I want my mom,” you whimpered. “I want Nan!” 

Price curled his arms tighter around you, “I’m sorry.” And then, you were back in the blackness, consciousness near fleeting. It took a terribly short time for the both of your to surface again, this time, back in that stupid cavern. Your head lolled to the side, your whole body limp as you were passed to a new set of arms. Lucky. You weren’t removed from the water, simply dragged to the shallows, where Lucky sprawled against stone, you in his lap, your head on his sternum. Mercy and Boss emerged from the water next, followed shortly by a smug looking Striker. Had they been following you this whole time?! 

Mercy and Boss were quick to play nurse, Mercy manipulating your tail for Boss to have easier access, his hellfire eyelights fixated on the injury. You dared peek down. Oh god. You regretted that. So many regrets. Maimed, mangled fishy flesh. There was a chunk of your new accessory that looked like chum. Striker clicked his teeth and Boss clicked in return. Then, without the usual amount of bullshit, the cyan-tailed mer vanished again.

“SO MESSY!” complained Mercy and Boss sniffed in either dismissal or agreement. You weren't sure which. “NOW, DON’T MOVE, HUMAN. THIS IS UNFORTUNATELY GOING TO HURT. A LOT.”

That green glow returned to Boss’ palms and he ran it over your mangled flesh. Unlike last time, it wasn’t soothing. It was like someone just poured gasoline in the wound and lit a match. There was no shame in screaming. Lucky and Mercy held you still. Bastards. The healing went on for ages, it seemed, before Boss leaned away and rinsed bloodied phalanges off in the water. “THERE, SHE IS NO LONGER ACTIVELY DYING.” Dying? “I SUGGEST MOVING HER TO THE COT AND WRAPPING THE WOUND IN WET CLOTH TO KEEP HER FROM DRYING OUT. SHE WILL NEED MORE SESSIONS BEFORE WE KNOW IF THERE IS PERMANENT DAMAGE.”

Lucky hummed and made an odd whistling noise that the others understood.

“The dolphin should be back soon, don’t get yer tail in a twist. We’re ‘aving shark fer the next week. The little sadist is probably just addin’ the teeth to his collection.”

“THIS DIDN’T HAVE TO HAPPEN,” complained Mercy. “WHILE A ROUSING BATTLE WITH A FOE AND DEVOURING THEIR CORPSE IS EXHILARATING, THE HUMAN WAS HURT NEEDLESSLY.”

“unfortunately, i can’t agree wit ya, bro,” Karma said, the only one of the mers to not be in the water, still dressed in his sloppy mobster get up. He knelt at the edge of the pool and looked you right in the eyes. “humans aint like us. they’re awful determined when they want somethin’ and the human wanted freedom. to escape. mebbe they’ve learned it aint such a good idea.” This time, impulse does get the better of you, and you spit in his face. Or try to. Your sad spitball misses him by a mile. “heh. still got a lotta moxie in ya. i can respect that. keep in mind, babe, not everybody does.” He leaned back. “now that we’ve established you aint goin’ nowheres quick, how ‘bout you’se get real cozy? take a nap. have some dinner. we can all have a chitchat about your situation in the mornin’,”

“Go die in a ditch,” you groused.

Karma’s only response was that always present smile.


	9. Bought and Sold

As much as you don’t want to sleep, exhaustion drags you down in the abyss. You’re uncertain of how long you’re under, but you woke to the smell of cooked fish. Red eyelights met your eyes, the cracks you put in his socket healed away. Of course it was Price standing there with a plate of food, looking worried, it was always him. Your hero. Your rescuer. The guy had a knack for being at the right place, at the right time. Too bad he was a kidnapper that knowingly cursed you! 

“It’s still hot,” he said as he stood there, the picture of a proper gentleman in his out-of-date suit and skittish smile. “The others don’t really bother cookin’ food. Just me and Boss. Karma and Lucky are too lazy. The Dolphin thinks cookin’ fish ruins it and won’t touch the stuff. Heh. And Mercy might cook if we didn’t ban him from the kitchen on the account of him startin’ fires a lil too easy.”

“You have a kitchen?” The question pops out against better judgement, and there is a flash of hope on the traitor’s skull, like he was relieved you were willing to talk to him. Well, joke’s on him, showing interest was an accident and probably caused by profuse blood loss. You clicked your teeth together and looked away, refusing to show your genuine curiosity.

Too bad he already saw it. Price laid the plate on a little trolly nearby, the kind a surgeon might have in the operating room. “Sure do. Jerry-rigged the whole thing to work off of magic instead o’ electricity. Amazin’ what yer can find washed up here. Course it’s not the fanciest set up, but we got a hot fridge, an ice box and a stove.” Wait up. Hot fridge? “It’s ‘nough to give a lil variation when one of us want somethin’ different to eat.”

“You mean instead of souls?” 

Price flinched and adjusted his hat like it would save him, “We don’t do that. Not to say there aint folks out there who would, but we don’t.” He shuddered. “Shark tastes jus’ fine. Now how abouts I help yer sit up so yer can eat?”

“No.”

“What’cher mean, no?”

You rolled over to no longer face him, barely able to keep the creeping mania out of your voice, “You’ve tricked me how many times? Cursed me. Let me drown. Kidnapped me. I am NOT eating anything any of you give me.”

“Not poisoned, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweetheart or dollface or—”

“Don’t tell me to use yer name,” he whispered. “Don’t do it. Don’t tell any of us that.”

_In the faerie realm, names have power. They are power._

Your throat bobbed with an audible swallow, your hands curling into fists, “I won’t eat the food. I’m not that naive. Now that I know what you are…”

“It’s too late fer that,” Price again sounded apologetic. “Eatin’ won’t make a difference.”

“Pity that you’re nothing more than a goddamned manipulator and liar and I can’t trust a single word out of your mouth.” Betrayal was bitter and so were the tears that streaked down your face. “I know the stories. I was raised on them. Might as well be selling my soul to the devil if I accept food from you.”

“...Oh sweetheart...can’t sell what’s already been bought and sold.”

That had you whipping around, heart in your throat, “What the hell does that mean?”

Price held his hands up, “It means yer should eat an’ rest. Starving yerself aint gonna change nuthin’ except makin’ healin’ slower and more painful.” He nudged the cart towards you. “Once yer feelin’ better, we can work on the whole legs situation and get yer a proper tour of the place. And when you’re more comfortable, I should be able to convince the others to let yer come wit us when we go out. Mebbe even help yer see yer ma. Course yer would need to play yer cards right, and I got a few aces up my sleeve to loan yer, but—”

“Shut up. Just, shut up. I’m not eating. And you avoided my question so I know you’re lying again.” You covered your ears and curled up, ignoring the way the smell of cooked fish made your stomach growl. 

“Yer belong here, dollface,” Price said, quiet, voice stiff with control. “Magic always takes back what belongs to it.” With that, he stood, leaving you with the food and the desire to claw your own skin off. The stress was getting to you. The pain making it hard to think clearly. But what could you do? How would you escape? How? How? How!?

“If you don’t want the others tying you down, I advise you stop injuring yourself, human!” Of course Striker would have to show up in your moment of crisis. The guy who wanted to pull out your teeth and steal your soul. The childish cheer in his voice set every nerve on edge. You were alone with him. Why were you left alone with the possibly murder happy mer who made it obvious he wanted you dead? “Mwehehe. Look at that. You’re scared of me, aren’t ya? Yer hurtin’ my feelings, _dollface_.” Fear was replaced with anger, the little brat’s mockery poking at just the right spot to make you uncurl and glare at him. He idled just out of arm’s reach, hands in his pockets, back in his spiffy suspenders like he was a person instead of a fish. His smirk was broad, canines glinting, eyelights luminous. Price might have a mouth full of shark teeth, but Striker looked ready to go for the killing bite. 

“Fuck. Off.”

“Awe, you break already? Where’s your so-called Determination?” It was reflex. You grabbed the plate of food you weren’t going to eat, looked him right in the eye, and threw it at him. He dodged the makeshift projectile and watched the plate bounce and skitter. Plastic. Of course. Couldn’t have the human getting ideas and shank someone. Striker whistled and his grin shifted into one little less hazardous to your health, “There it is. You’re much more interesting when you’re being scrappy.” Says the guy who complained about your ability to bite earlier. “Though you really shouldn’t waste food, it’s terribly rude.” 

You wrinkled your nose at him and scowled, hoping to any high power you’d spontaneously develop laser vision and melt his smarmy face off, “Get bent and choke on a fishbone, _Dolphin_.”

“Hmph. And here I was trying to be nice.”

“In what reality is mocking someone you drowned, being nice?”

Striker huffed, staring back at you with that bratty expression he wore so well, before it faded again behind that childish delight, “You are indeed correct, my familiarity with human customs is lackluster. But your understanding of our ways is even worse! Mwehehe. And you are in our home, little fish.” You almost recoiled. He was closer, for once not calling you human or an it, like maybe he didn’t see you as prey he couldn’t hunt. “I suggest learning a little before you land headfirst into something else you don’t understand.”

“And who will teach me? YOU?” 

He cocked his head to the side, like a crow spotting a shiny new toy, “I could be convinced.”

“I’ve made enough bargains with fae for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

Striker inched even closer, looming, will o’ wisp eyelights betraying nothing as they bore down upon your prone form. Moving hurt and he was unstable. Otherwise you’d try to pop one of those glows with your fist. It was a large enough target. If he didn’t move, you might even hit. “Deals are currency and do not always require both parties to acknowledge the debt. It is better to learn and make deals properly than your ignorance taken advantage of.” It was eerie, how seemingly considerate he was acting. _A trick._ “They won’t tell you, you know, about the plan. The boneheads are all hush-hush, keep it a secret, or it will go wrong. What’s that human saying...knowledge is power? Know thy enemy? Cherry and his brother are always spouting stuff like that.”

“You want something.”

“Figured that out all on your own, did you?” Striker chuckled. 

He was close enough you could reach up and wrap your arms around him, and drag him into a kiss. Well, you for one weren’t going to take the bait. If he wanted to barter, then you were going to offer him something he couldn’t possibly want so he would back off. Nobody liked it when they were trying to sell something, and someone’s best offer was their left shoe collection. A tiny, spiteful smirk curled on your lips, “Aweeee, does ickle Dolphin boy want another kiss~?”

You expected him to scoff in disgust, but he didn’t move, his gaze turning hooded, “Deal.”

“W-wait, what?”

“I told you your ignorance wouldn’t do you any favors.”

“I didn’t agree to anything!”

“Oh? I made an offer. You acknowledged that offer. You proposed what you would give in exchange. I accepted. Quite simple,” Striker placed his hands on the cot. “But I can be merciful, little fish. I am, after all, the _sans_ sational Striker!” He didn’t touch you. Didn’t let the tips of his phalanges brush exposed skin. You should try to break his arm. But you don’t, fixated by his eyelights. It crept idly through your brain that the same thing happened when he drowned you. That you were bedazzled by his allure, little better than a deer caught in headlights on a highway. 

“You...didn’t like having to kiss me because of the plan.”

“Call it a cultural exchange,” Striker murmured. “Fae give and take in equal parts. As it stands, you are in control of how much you get out of this bargain.”

It would be easy to kiss his wrist or his cheek just to spite him. To stand by your declaration not to make deals. But his smug face. His ego. It needed grinding into the dirt. And you wanted some. God. Damn. Answers. You jackknifed up and grabbed his shirt, yanking him down to a more comfortable angle, and kissed the bastard. Kissed his teeth like he could bruise. The experience was somewhere between smooching a plaster wall and licking a low voltage battery. Well, until his fangs parted. A tiny nip. You kept holding him. Apparently dissatisfied with the position, he broke contact just long enough to swing his weight onto the cot, then dipped his smile against your lips again. You instinctively grasped at his arm, his other hand brushed against skin. But instead of getting grabby, it settled at your waist, where human flesh met scales. 

In control of how much you got out of the bargain...fine. He’d regret making this deal. Your tongue brushed his teeth, expecting him to recoil back, deciding that he had enough of smooching the icky human. But instead, something warm probed back. What. The. Heck. Was that a tongue? Could you really be surprised? Whatever. It made it easier to imagine he was some cute boy you met at work or in class, instead of a walking halloween decoration that pissed you off every time he talked. When it became obvious he really, really did not know what he was doing, you looped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, forcing him to practically lay on top of you unless he wanted one helluva crick in his neck. Despite his inexperience and the sheer weirdness of the scenario, it wasn’t the worst kiss. That honor remained squarely on the shoulders of Kevin in the sixth grade, who, on a dare, slobbered on your face like the human personification of a labradoodle. 

In fact, after a little while, it was downright pleasant. Asshole. Why couldn’t he lick your face like a pre-teen so you could be properly disgusted?

It wasn’t fireworks and bubblegum pop, but you were rather proud of yourself. 

Well, up until Striker’s form was yanked off of you and thrown into the pool of water nearby. What just happened? You strained to sit up and found the others had returned, likely informed by Price that you were awake. And speaking of the devil...Price was, for lack of a more eloquent word, pissed. Any gentle facade was gone, replaced by a snarling predator. A chill snapped down your spine like someone dumped a bucket of ice on your head. 

“HOW DARE YOU!” Striker bellowed as he emerged from the water. Price didn’t seem to care and dove at him. Out for blood. The water churned with their fight, but it was brief, with Striker scrambling out of the water, utterly drenched, red on his teeth. Price lunged after him, but Striker backed away, forcing Price to climb out of the water as well, his hellfire eyes overlarge with focused intent. “I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR RIDICULOUSNESS! YOU INTERRUPTED A DEAL, YOU HALF-BREED BARBARIAN! I DEMAND COMPENSATION!”

“A deal?! Bullshit. Yer charmed her! How far would yer have gone if I hadn’t stopped yer?”

Striker’s jaw dropped, as if slapped, “That goes against every principle of my kind.” He grit his teeth. “What use is a mate that hates you the moment the charm fades?”

“Yer get sick amusement outta a lotta shit that aint right.”

“enough,” Karma said, stopping the fight with a word. He nodded to the tall merskeletons behind him. Boss went to price and grabbed his arms, effectively restraining him from slugging Striker. Lucky stood beside his brother, though his hands remained in his pockets. As for Mercy? He was at the edge of the cot in an instant, pulling back the sheets to inspect your injury. It was bleeding. No wonder your lower half was throbbing. Without the hate-kiss to think about, pain was now the number one thing to occupy your brain, alongside hunger.

“DEAL OR NO DEAL, ENTHUSIASTIC SMOOCHING IS NOT CONDUCIVE TO THE HUMAN’S RECOVERY,” Mercy huffed. “WHY DIDN’T YOU EAT? NO MATTER, I WILL FETCH YOU ANOTHER SERVING. KEEP IN MIND FOOD IS MUCH BETTER AT HEALING THAN BEING USED AS A PROJECTILE, NO MATTER HOW MUCH CERTAIN INDIVIDUALS MIGHT DESERVE THINGS THROWN AT THEIR HEAD. IF YOU MUST THROW THINGS, MIGHT I RECOMMEND OBJECTS WITH MORE WEIGHT, SUCH AS A WELL PROPORTIONED ROCK.” 

“go on, bro, i got _dish_ covered.”

Mercy made an indignant groan and stomped off, “YOU ARE NOT FUNNY!”

“dunno what ya mean, i’m hilarious. a real, bone-ticklin’ comedian,” he watched Mercy leave, before looking at you. Smile wide and impassive. Nothing telling in his expression. His gaze didn’t linger, “a’ight boys, what’s all the fuss about? i heard somethin’ about deals and compensation?” The way Striker and Price looked at Karma, like they actually did expect him to sort out this mess, made you wonder if there was something to more than the self-proclaimed ‘judgement’ title he gave himself. 

Striker jabbed a finger at Price in the age-old playground manner of ‘he did it’, his browbones slanted, “I have a bargain with the human that he interfered with.”

“Because you were taking advantage of her!”

“It was a fair deal! She proposed the kissing, _lover boy_ ,” he narrowed his eyesockets. “You’re jealous! Pah. Lousy excuse to meddle. You don’t have a right to be jealous.”

Karma drew in a breath, his back now to you, “baby blue is tellin’ the truth. and red, heh, saw red when he thought you was hurtin’ the dame. what’cha want for compensation, striker?”

He clicked his teeth, but he smirked as an idea dawned for him, “I want his silence and obedience until my bargain with the human is complete.”

There was a pause and then, “fair. so be it.”

Price opened his mouth but as if compelled by an outside force, his jaws clamped shut. He glowered at Striker, who sniffed, “Cherry, you will stand there and do nothing. Say nothing.” He smiled in that manic, eerie fashion at the others, “I would advise the same of the rest of you unless you would like to lose a finger or two. Can’t have anymore meddling in this deal, now can I?” 

The others gave Striker a wary look, like he just announced he had a stick of dynamite in his ribcage and would shove it, lit, down the throat of anyone who crossed him. 

“Now, little fish, I believe you earned some information.”


	10. For what it's worth...

There was something almost gleefully malicious in Striker’s tone and pose, but for once it wasn’t directed at you. As gratifying as it was to watch the others shift from foot-to-foot, it was also deeply unsettling, and some part of you wanted to say it was fine, no need to hold up his end of the bargain, you didn’t want to know the plan anymore. Luminous cyan eyelights fixed on you, the edges no longer rounded, giving him a literal ‘starry-eyed’ look as he once more encroached on your personal space. Damp phalanges tilted up your chin, bone like chilled porcelain after his impromptu dip in the sea. Your skin prickled with goose bumps and you held your breath, the animal part of your brain not liking the proximity of those hands to your neck.

A moment later, he tucked the appendage into a pocket, still looming, still eerily giddy, “The basis of the plan is terribly simple and something you’ve surely heard before. To take back what belongs to us. To our world. Magic has no place in the human side of the veil.” He sighed and straightened up, “The easiest way to take magic from humans is to reclaim it from their souls. And it isn’t hard to find those with it, given magic is drawn to itself. So simple it would have been if the others just let me pull your soul from your chest and left your body to wither and die.” You heard murmuring in the background, but you were enraptured by those big, bright glows.

“But that is short-sighted, they say. I never see the big picture, they say. I say, they think too much, take too little action,” Striker tilted his head towards Price. “I will be honest, I don’t understand their little plan that well, because it is ridiculous, but I do know they don’t want you to know it. They don’t want you to know that there is more than one way of reclaiming magic. Cherry over there? Him and Boss…mwehehe, you could say they should know exactly what they’re trying to put you through. Boss wanted to be merciful and go with my plan. Price thought he was all big and smart and could make Karma’s convoluted scheming _easier_ on you. I think the lover boy forgot somewhere along the line that even if he played nice, this,” he motioned to your tail, “was inevitable. And you would hate him for it. Because you hate him, don’t you little fish? You hate all of us.”

“striker…” Karma’s voice was low with warning. The young mer winked back, flippant as ever. 

“Part one of the big plan, give the human the Mermaid’s tear, that’s what Cherry was to do,” he declared. Price trembled, clearly straining to do or say anything despite the invisible hold on him. Boss laid his hands on his brother’s shoulders, as if to calm him. “Part two, my part, lure the human into the water and well, drown her!” 

“The kiss?”

Striker pulled a face, “That is part of a later step. Kissing you was to acclimate me to YOU, not the other way around. Since as I informed you, I am unfamiliar with human customs, and the others thought it necessary.” His sour expression shifted back to playfulness. So quick. So easily. Like flipping a lightswitch. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too much of a burden to continue the practice if it is truly required. It wasn’t wholly unpleasant the second time around.” He wagged a finger at you, “Now step three of this big, grand plan? It’s a boring one. Let you adjust to your new home. Your new body. Your new life. Because this is your life now.”

“You’re telling me the big plan was to make me a mermaid for...what? Revenge on the human race? How was I even born with magic?! What does it matter if I have it?”

“Now now, you didn’t barter for those extra questions, but I am feeling _generous_.”

You glowered at him. The last time you rose to his taunts, you ended up in a deal that involved smooching him. But you both knew that information was a valued resource. However, could you hate-kiss the bastard again, this time, in front of a crowd? As awful as the crow tasted, you knew you’d swallow if it meant maybe, just maybe, getting what you needed to escape. So you let your own razor smile show, all teeth, all spite, “Didn’t take you for a exhibitionist, _Dolphin_. Wanting more kisses, are you?”

Striker laughed, “You’re picking up on the game, aren’t you? Well, I won’t show my hand just yet. Because I do want a kiss, but not for me.” He jerked his head towards Price. “Cherry is all bothered and jealous. Give him a smooch and I’ll answer those questions you’ve got along with the rest of what I know of the plan.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I won’t answer. In this place it is eye for eye, tooth for tooth, lie for lie and truth for truth.” He tugged at a suspender, all jaunty and innocent looking save for the crookedness of his overly-cheerful grin. “You get what you give, and you give what you get. Really, it is very simple.”

You peered at the others, wondering why no one had interfered. Karma’s eyelights had guttered out and Boss looked utterly apocalyptic, like he was about to have the skeleton version of an aneurysm. And Lucky was sucking down a cigarette like it was straw leading to the fountain of life itself. Price physically meddling resulted in some kind of faerie karmic punishment, but they weren’t even trying to guide Striker’s rant away from revealing everything he knew. _Was it really that simple?_

Holding Striker’s stare for a moment, you nodded, “Fine. Deal.”

“Hear that, lover boy, you’re gonna get a kiss from your girl. Why dont’cha come and get it?”

“You. Are. An asshole.”

Striker clicked his teeth, then flipped you the bird, “I believe this rude human gesture should communicate that I reciprocate your animosity!” Price shuffled over, hands buried in his pockets, head low. “Maybe you will rethink messing with my deals, Cherry.” The red-eyed skeleton didn’t look at you, shoulders slumped in a manner that made you think of kicked puppies. And of course, your stupid concious had to slap you upside the head as he stood there in soaked clothes dripping a puddle on the floor. It wasn’t right for you to kiss the guy. He didn’t ask for this. What...what had this whole situation done to make you even consider this to be okay? 

“Sorry,” you muttered, and Price tilted his skull up a bit. “I got ahead of myself. Dolphin is really...really good at making me react instead of thinking stuff through.” As you continued to hesitate, Price huffed and lifted a hand, phalanges brushing your cheek, touch gentle, as if you were a priceless work of art. He then ducked down, putting his face level with yours. “I’m still pissed at you. In fact, I’m pissed at every single one of you in this room.” Then you pressed your lips to his teeth, mindful that his weren’t like Striker’s, but triangular and serrated, easy to cut oneself on. Unlike with Striker, there was no escalation, no furious questing with lip and tongue. But there was a strange stirring low in your chest and without thought, your hands cupped his mandible. When he pulled away, you were left feeling odd. That was almost...sweet. 

Before you could sort out what the fuck was wrong with you, Striker slid between you and Price, still grinning, “Awe. How cute. See that, Karma, I’m helping.” 

“there’s gonna be consequences for this scene you’se makin’, kiddo,” was the other skeleton’s terse reply. “you’se playin’ dirty pool an’ forgettin’ ya outta ya league.” 

“Nah, I think you all are the ones forgetting that I’m not some guppy clinging to his mama’s tailfins.” Striker stretched and then strolled off, grabbing Price’s tie as he walked, leading the larger male away like a dog on a leash. “Now, where did we leave off?” His back to you, he continued, “Ah yes, your magic. Why you have it and why we want it. See, magic is not not inherent to humans. Short lives and no mana give your kind a rather...industrious nature. As a whole your species is dangerously determined and that determination drives innovation. Humans do not adapt to their environment, they change their environment to suit them.” He released Price’s tie. “But every so often a human is born that is sensitive to magic and ends up stumbling across the veil or Sighting a faerie.” He sneered at Price. “Sometimes these Sighted humans up capturing one our kind and begetting spawn on them. And unless those children end up in the faerie realm where they belong, they go on to spawn more humans. Humans with faerie blood. With magic.”

You curled your hands into fists and tried to calm your racing thoughts. Your Nan had an awful lot of stories and warnings about the faerie world, but that was easily attributed to where she grew up. But the fact that she didn’t freak out when you proved ‘touched’? Maybe that was because she herself was of their blood? Then what about your mother? It took every ounce of self control to bite back the storm of questions that arose and instead stiffly mutter out, “Then wouldn’t that mean my mother or grandmother would have been a better target for your schemes? They would have more of this so-called magic in them.”

Striker tapped the side of his skull with a single, long digit, “One would think so. Unless, of course, their blood is far too diluted...and yours isn’t.”

“That would imply magic either skips generations or my mother—” you faltered, swallowing down the idea. Sure you never met your father. But your mother was just so...closed-minded when it came to the tales you grandmother told. She spent so much time in denial that what you experienced was paranormal instead of a chemical imbalance in the brain. _But if magic wants to reclaim magic, if it draws faerie folk to those with it in their blood, then was it possible that…?_

“It would, little fish, it would indeed,” Striker murmured. “So why you, you ask? Not revenge on the human race. That is petty. I will leave that flavor of pettiness to the High Court. No, it is you because you had the great misfortune of having the right pedigree, at the right time, at the right place. If not for your magic, you would have died a human when I drowned you. Instead, the magic in the pearl mingled with your own sleeping potential and awoke you. Awoke what was bubbling beneath the surface, always seeping out from beneath your skin. Returned you to where you belong. You became a mer because it was in. your. blood. Hidden by pesky human biology. Which leads us to the last step of the plan...but skips one that has yet to be addressed.”

Striker folded his hands together, like a child who was waiting with bald eagerness for a slice of birthday cake, “And it would not do to skip steps. Which brings us to four. Once the human is adjusted to her new circumstances...convince her to stay through any means necessary. As step five is your acceptance of our world and the shedding of your humanity. Perhaps you may have noticed...us mers don’t usually have _skin_ on our bones.”

“...This whole process of making deals and kidnapping me is just to trap me in the faerie world forever and forsake my humanity?” How did kissing help? How did taking her so suddenly help? There was still missing information. There were fragments of a story left untold. Comments like mate and half-breed, and displays of too-human empathy. There was the fact that they had this strange cavern and walked around on two legs and had a kitchen for god’s sake! Despite having answers laid in your lap, there remained too many questions. And Striker knew it. There was a gleam in his eyelights. He was enjoying watching you flounder with curiosity. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“I never promised you everything. You wanted to know about the plan, and I told you about the plan. I’m not obligated to give detailed rationale and how the others thought to achieve each step.” He pouted, “Nor can I claim to know all the details since they are quite rudely keeping me out of much of the planning because of _liability_. Hmph.”

“and ya won’t if you’se keep this up,” Karma said, and suddenly, the others seemed spurred into action. Lucky moved faster than you’d seen him move before, snatching up Striker by the back of his shirt and hauling him towards the pool. Boss pulled Price to his side, unspoken warning glittering in his sockets as he and his brother stared each other down. “every action has consequences, blue.”

Striker had the audacity to laugh, “At least the human thinks I’m honest enough to make deals with. Doesn’t that smart, Judgy?” Lucky huffed and dumped Striker back into the water before assuming a guarded stance at the edge. Striker talked a lot of shit and Lucky hadn’t said a word, but there was a distinct bond there. That he wasn’t about to let the little asshole get hurt even if he deserved a good thwack upside the skull with a baseball bat. Fortunately, before you could discover what kind of mayhem the mers might have unleashed upon one another in the wake of Striker’s mess making, Mercy returned with a steaming plate of shark. 

“FRESH FROM THE HOT FRIDGE,” he announced. “I ALSO PREPARED A WARMING DRINK TO HELP ACCELERATE YOUR HEALING.” The tension in the room dropped as Mercy laid the tray on the rolling cart by the cot and began to methodically check you over, far more carefully than he did before he left to prepare more food. He pulled away the sheet from your tail and gently prodded at wounds, before tutting softly as his hands moved up over your hips and stomach, his thumbs brushing the band of your bra as he checked your ribs. You pushed his hands away at that, but thankfully, Mercy appeared done with his inspection of your person. “I BELIEVE IT WOULD BE BENEFICIAL FOR YOU TO REST WITH YOUR TAIL SUBMERGED BUT WE CANNOT HAVE YOU ACCIDENTALLY BREATHING IN WATER IF YOU SLIP UNDER THE SURFACE WHEN ASLEEP. WOULD YOU PERMIT MYSELF OR ANOTHER OF US TO ASSIST YOU OR SHOULD I SOAK THESE SHEETS AGAIN?”

“What’s the catch?”

Mercy chuckled, as if amused by your suspicion, “WHY NOTHING AT ALL! YOU WOULD BE HELD SAFE AND SECURE BY THE GREAT AND COMPASSIONATE MERCY WHO HAS NOTHING BUT YOUR PHYSICAL WELL-BEING IN MIND AND ON HIS MIND. YOU ARE IN NO STATE FOR SHENANIGANS, SO THANK YOU KISSES, SHOULD YOU WISH TO IMPART THEM ON MY MOST WONDERFUL AND HUMBLE PERSONAGE, WILL HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE NO LONGER...LEAKING. SO MUCH LEAKING.”

He turned to face the others and shook a finger, “I CAN SENSE YOU ARE ALL UP TO SOMETHING, SO BEFORE I MUST KNOCK SOME SKULLS TOGETHER...OUT!” He paused, “OH, UNLESS YOU WISH FOR ONE OF THEM TO STAY WITH YOU, OF COURSE.” You shook your head and watched as Mercy shuffled the others away, deeper into their strange home, before loitering at the edge of the pool that Striker vanished in earlier. Mercy sighed, fished out what you assumed was Striker’s clothes, before waving his hand. The air thickened with the tase of ozone and suddenly, the pool began to glow a bright cyan. “THERE. STRIKER WILL BE JUST FINE SPENDING THE NIGHT TO THINK ABOUT HIS ACTIONS.” 

He then wandered back to you and cocked his head to the side, “NOW WHY HAVEN’T YOU EATEN?”

“Not hungry.”

“DON’T LIE. IT’S TERRIBLY UNCOUTH.”

You considered pushing the fib but instead decided that the truth might very well be barbed enough to make him go away too, “I’m not a complete idiot. Eating faerie food will just bind me to your twisted world and probably indebt me to you further in some way.”

Mercy propped his hands on his hips, browbones furrowed with thought, “HUMAN, I DO NOT WISH TO FORCE YOU TO EAT FOR YOUR OWN HEALTH, BUT I AM OPPOSED TO YOU STARVING YOURSELF. MIGHT THERE BE A COMPROMISE WE CAN REACH?”

Yeah, no. He didn’t deny eating the food would bind you in some way. You shook your head, firm in your decision. He frowned, and like Price, you could swear you saw something akin to regret on his face. A strange weight settled in your chest that left you feeling heavy and muddled. “IT’S ALRIGHT, HUMAN. I KNOW YOU’RE FRIGHTENED. BUT THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. I AM NOTHING IF NOT BENEVOLENT, NYEHEH!” He held your stare and it was terribly easy to stop fighting. To lay your head limply against his shoulder. You felt...warm. So warm and comfortable. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. 

“HERE.”

He pressed the lip of a cup to your mouth and against your better judgement, you drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my butt. W O R D S.
> 
> As requested by a commenter, a quick nickname guide:  
> Mobfell!Sans - Mr. Butch Price, Mr. Price, Price, Butch, Butcher, Red and Cherry
> 
> Mobfell!Papyrus - Boss
> 
> Mobswap!Sans - Striker, Blue, Dolphin, pipsqueak, kid, kiddo
> 
> Mobswap!Papyrus - Lucky
> 
> Mobtale!Sans - Karma
> 
> Mobtale!Papyrus - Mercy
> 
> Most of the nicknames are Price and Striker trying to annoy one another.


	11. Knowing When to Fold

A beat passed. A swallow. Two. Then the taste of what you were drinking really set in. It was...indescribable. Your stomach churned, had a nice little chit chat with your brain, and filed a complaint with the Intake of Food department. A shudder rippled through your whole body and by some miracle you didn’t puke up the foul concoction that tasted of rotten kelp and rancid fish all mixed together with seawater and oyster sauce. As your body folded in half with a coughing fit, Mercy laid the cup aside with a hum and patted your back, “THERE THERE. I PACKED ENOUGH INTENT INTO THAT SEA TEA THAT YOU SHOULD BE FEELING SHIPSHAPE IN NO TIME AT ALL! I WILL ADMIT THE FLAVOR IS NOT TO EVERYONE’S TASTE, BUT I HAVE BEEN INFORMED THAT IT IS THE BEST HOT BEVERAGE FOR REINVIGORATING A LAND DWELLER.” 

Despite all laws of nature pointing to you upchucking every ounce of that foul concoction, it somehow settled, leaving your limbs feeling warm and a little heavy, but your head clear and alert, albeit a little jittery as if you’d downed two shots of espresso after an all-nighter. Mercy maneuvered the plate of shark to your lap, no sign of cutlery of any kind in sight. 

“You...you...what did you do?” the croak rattled past your lips. “I didn’t want to eat and you—”

“HUMAN, DID IT EVER OCCUR TO YOU THAT NOT ALL STORIES YOU MAY HAVE HEARD IN YOUR WORLD ARE TRUE?” Thin bone constructs formed in his hands and he began to neatly cut a slice of the shark steak from the slab. “THE MERE ACT OF EATING FOOD ON THIS SIDE OF THE VEIL NO MORE BINDS YOU TO IT THAN ANY OTHER ACT. HOWEVER, ACCEPTING FOOD FROM A FAE WITH MALEVOLENT INTENT, OR STEALING FOOD FROM EVEN A GOOD NATURED FAERIE, CAN END IN RATHER TROUBLESOME AFFAIRS. AS THE HUMAN RARELY IS WILLING TO KEEP THEIR END OF THE BARGAIN, AND THE REPERCUSSIONS OF A BROKEN DEAL FALL BACK ON THEM.” 

He drew the bit of shark to his own teeth and consumed it, “NOW THAT I HAVE PROVEN NEITHER THE DRINK NOR THE FOOD IS POISONED AND HAVE EXPLAINED THE FALLACY IN YOUR LOGIC, WILL YOU EAT NOW?”

“...No. You forced me to drink against my will and—”

Mercy sighed, loudly, melodramatically, “FEEDING YOU BY HAND WOULD BE TERRIBLY FORWARD, BUT IF IT WHAT YOU REQUIRED OF ME I SHALL DO MY DUE DILIGENCE AND RISE TO THE OCCASION.”

Your thoughts jumped and skittered. Deals. Bargains. Regrets.

“What do you want?”

“I WANT YOU TO EAT.”

“Everything is a contract with your kind,” your eyes narrowed as Mercy speared a cube of fish and poked it at your face, grazing a cheek when you rebuffed his advance. “I’ll eat—”

“THANK THE STARS!”

“—if you can swear to me that doing so is not an elaborate trick or trap or means to a malevolent end.”

Mercy sniffed as if offended. Oh dear. Nothing good ever happened to the unwitting humans that offended one of the fair folk. “I AM A MER OF HONOR,” he declared. “THE ONLY HARM THAT WILL COME TO YOU REGARDING THIS MEAL IS IN THE FORM OF SLOW HEALING AND DISCOMFORT DUE TO MALNUTRITION SHOULD YOU DENY YOURSELF SUSTENANCE. I SWEAR MY INTENT IS COMPLETELY BENIGN IN NATURE.” He put the plate on your lap and the bone-spear of fish in your hand. “I HOPE WE DO NOT HAVE TO MAKE A RITUAL OUT OF EVERY MEAL, THAT WOULD BE TIRESOME.”

“Forcing me to drink that foul stuff has not endeared you to me by the way.”

“OH WOE IS THE PLIGHT OF THE HEALER, ALWAYS BEARING THE BURDEN OF BLAME. YOU WILL ASSUREDLY FEEL BETTER AND THANK ME LATER FOR MY TIMELY INTERVENTION, HUMAN.”

With a roll of your eyes, you brought the shark to your lips and ate. Goodie. Raw, unseasoned fish. It tasted disconcertingly better than expected. After a few bites, your appetite decided to complain loudly and only through devouring the whole portion did the ravenous hunger abate. Mercy hummed and watched, all-too-happy to pluck you up once your plate was clean. Your shouts to be put down were met with light laughter before he set you in the pool again, propping you onto a rocky outcropping that was smooth like a bench. The very pool Striker was tossed into, and you had initially escaped through. Any protests you had died a short, strangled death as Mercy began to strip. Right there. You looked away, mouth screwed into a tight line, unwilling to look up until his form sank down into the water beside yours. 

It was then, for the first time, you saw it happen.

Long legs stretched out and from the hollow of his ribs, a haze of tangerine orange emerged, his joints flaring a matching hue. Then slowly, in a manner that made you blink trying to comprehend, his leg bones seemed to shift and merge as they were cocooned with vivid, bioluminescent false flesh. You expected his tail and fins to be sleek like Striker’s, giving him a similar silhouette to a porpoise of some kind. But his tail had fins rather than flukes, rather like a fish, and there was a certain fancifulness to his debatably less aerodynamic form. Not that he didn’t look powerful. He was much larger than Striker and that was intimidating, even with the lack of pointy teeth. Squinting, you swore you say speckles and faint stripes of different shades and hues marking his vibrant tail. Maybe Striker had the same kind of variation, but you’d never really had a chance to examine him this close without being dazzled.

Catching yourself, you jerked your gaze away, earning a chuckle from Mercy.

“IT IS QUITE ALRIGHT. I DO NOT MIND YOUR APPRECIATION OF MY FORM—I AM A REMARKABLE SPECIMEN OF MY BREED,” he flicked his tailfin and motioned to his bare ribs, his bones gleaming like polished pearls. “NOW, IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO REST. I WILL PREVENT YOU FROM SLIPPING BENEATH THE WATER AND DROWNING IN YOUR SLEEP. AND YOU MAY CLING TO MY HANDSOME PERSONAGE FOR COMFORT SHOULD YOU FIND YOURSELF DISTRESSED.”

“...I hate you all.”

Mercy drew you upon his lap, “REST. YOU WILL WAKE UNMOLESTED, HUMAN. ON MY HONOR AS A HEALER, I SWEAR IT.”

You didn’t have many other options than to trust him. So you let your head drop against his chest, the touch-starved and lonely part of your brain unable to deny how nice it felt to be platonically held like this. When you were stronger, knew your enemy better, you would escape.

_”Oooh, pwetty! Mama! Mama! I found a pwetty necklace._

_There was only ever once that your mother rummaged through her ‘special boxes’ with you. Her skin was pale and the bags beneath her eyes grey. She looked sick—was sick—but hid it behind weak smiles and makeup. Even with her hair tied back and clad in baggy sleep clothes, she was just so much larger than life itself. A presence nobody could quite ignore. Even as a child you could see that she was someone meant to change the world, the establishments of old quaking upon their foundations in her wake. Yet she sat on the floor with you, like a living ghost, one foot in the grave but too stubborn to let even the devil himself drag her down. Not then. Her time hadn’t come—so she had decreed._

_As she peered over at you, photo album in hand, filled with memories captured in time, she stiffened, the easy mood of that morning turning ice cold. All because you held a string of pearls in pudgy, child hands. She snatched them away with a violence and fury that you’d never seen before nor after, and tears sprang to your eyes. Your mother composed herself in a lightning flash, a storm clouding her gaze._

_”Mama?”_

_”Sorry, sweetie. Did I frighten you?” At your nod, she ruffled your hair and kissed your brow. She never explained her reaction, but the string of pearls vanished into her pocket, never to be seen again. When you were older, the only reminder of that moment came while you were both quietly watching a movie together on one of her visit days. It was some schmaltzy Hallmark type show where the love interest presented the protagonist with a bracelet as a promise to love her forever. “Tch. Never trust a man that gives you pearls,” she muttered. And that was that. Nothing less. Nothing more._

Wakefulness stirred slowly to the scent of smoke. 

You blinked and twisted, your body aching in one giant bruise, aware of the soft murmur of masculine voices and muted laughter. Sluggishly you wondered if you fell asleep in the bath again, your mother burning toast again as the news droned on the tv. The illusion shattered when the figurative wall of the tub rose-and-fell with a slow, sleepy breath. You shoved away from the mer and floundered, haphazardly flingly yourself sideways into the deeper part of the pool, your head going under with a gasp. Echos of conflicting instincts warred a symphony in your brain, one screeching off key to breathe and the other whistling to stay calm, that you had plenty of air in your lungs. Before you could clamber through the mire, hands gripped your waist and hauled you up.

“BAD DREAM, HUMAN?” Mercy asked as he settled you back on his lap and brushed wet hair off your face. “SEE THIS IS WHY SLEEPING IN WATER IS HAZARDOUS.”

“TCH, EVEN FRESHLY WHELPED PUPS KNOW TO HOLD THEIR BREATH WHEN SUBMERGED.” Boss—who knew how long he’d been lurking nearby—emerged from the shadows to loom in crisp, unrelieved black. Rather dapper for a kidnapping skeleton fish pretending to be a human. “It’s pathetic.”

“SOMEBODY IS GRUMPY HE WASN’T THE ONE CHOSEN TO CUDDLE WITH THE HUMAN.” Between you and Boss, it was difficult to discern which of your squawked louder in protest. “NYEHEHE. I JEST. I ASSUME YOU WERE ASSIGNED TO FETCH OUR FEISTY LITTLEST FRIEND FROM WHEREVER HE HAS HOLED HIMSELF UP?”

Boss didn’t deign give an answer.

Mercy scooped you up and sat you on the edge of the pool, hopping up at your side, “COVER YOUR EYES IF YOU WISH.”

“I would rather she did.”

“YOU AND PRICE HAVE SUCH STRANGE NOTIONS.”

“IT IS CALLED MODESTY! I HAVE LITTLE DESIRE TO BE OGLED AT WHILE NUDE IN THIS GLAMOR BY A FEMALE I AM NOT MATED TO.”

“OH! HUMAN. YOU MUST TELL ME, ARE PRICE AND BOSS’ HUMAN GLAMORS ATTRACTIVE BY YOUR SPECIES’ STANDARDS? THEY’RE UTTERLY PLAIN COMPARED TO WHAT I’VE SEEN OF BIPEDAL SYLVAN MALES, BUT ATTRIBUTES SUCH AS SCALES OR WINGS OR CLAWS DON’T APPEAR TO HAVE BEEN SELECTIVELY BRED FOR…”

At Boss’ scowl, you covered your face, partly to avoid seeing him strip like Mercy, and partly to hide your discomfort. Mercy prodded you like a curious child until you broke, “They’re...fine. They look like normal human men.”

Somebody whistled in the background. Somebody else laughed.

“damning with faint praise over there,” called out Karma. “awe, don’t look so glum, pal, at least she didn’t call ya an ugly mug.”

“Touch me again and yer will lose the hand.”

“bite me and you’se will lose ya teeth. pick ya battles, red.”

There was a splash and a few seconds later, you dared open your eyes. Boss’ clothes laid on the edge of the pool and the only sign of his presence was the faint glow of crimson that vanished beneath the water. Footsteps made you crane your neck. Karma, Price and Lucky were all approaching, each of them smoking. Though out of the tree, Price looked the most uneasy, ashamed even, like an addict couldn’t keep clean and backslid into bad habits. Didn’t stop him from puffing on the cigarette like a lifeline. Karma and all his mixed-era gangster glory had a cigar between his teeth, but unlike Lucky and Price, it didn’t produce the typical smoke one expected. It was hazy and blue and made your mind skip immediately to the word ‘magic’.

“REALLY. ALL THREE OF YOU?”

Karma held up his hands in surrender, snuffing the cherry on the cigar on a nearby wall and tucking the unburnt remains into his jacket. Lucky winked (at you) and Price—god why did he have to be so good at pretending to feel guilty?—turned his head, shoulders hunched.

“sorry bro. we wuz all havin’ some quality bondin’ time and ya know how it goes.”

“FILTHY HABIT, SOCIAL NICETIES ASIDE.”

Lucky feigned a swoon like he’d been physically hit by Mercy’s remark.

“Uh, how are yer feelin’ today, sweetheart?”

Karma cocked his head, glancing between Price and you, a browbone raised, an answer clearly expected.

“...Fine.”

“word of the day, it seems.”

“BROTHER, DON’T BE RUDE.”

“apologies, where are my manners?”

“AT THE BOTTOM OF A TRENCH AS ALWAYS.”

“guilty.”

You felt around the edge of the pool, looking for a rock to chuck at his stupid head. Failing to find one, you flipped him off, “Yeah, well, if you’re expecting happy or any variation thereof Mr. Judgement, then you can fuck right off with that attitude of yours. I don’t like you or your face and wish I never met any of you so I could have kept my mediocre life. Even if I was a freak, at least nobody in town tried to kidnap me then act all high and mighty about succeeding. When I figure out—” Your words trailed off at his smile. There was something of a warning to it, and perhaps a smidge of pity, the kind an ageless god might bestow upon an outspoken subject. 

Karma nodded to Mercy and the others, “if that is all. i have business to attend. i trust you will keep blue from causing too much mischief in my absence?”

Lucky made a gesture with his hands that must have been some form of assurance because Karma turned and delved deeper into the cave. Either he had super secret faerie paperwork to do in the dark...or there was another way out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fan favorite Striker has some art now!](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/post/634816292304617473/what-did-you-just-call-me-say-that-again-i)


	12. Pokerface

You were never taught to swim. It came naturally. Like a little selkie, your Nan teased, impossible to keep out of the water. All you were missing was the seal skin and you’d surely vanish beneath the seafoam quicker than a wink. Bathtime was the best time. During the summer and warmest autumn afternoons, you spent hours splashing in a little plastic pool in the backyard or running through the sprinklers. When you were older and stronger, you played in the shallows of the river, but never at dusk or dawn, as that was when the nasties came out to play. Or more accurately, when creatures like bull sharks went hunting. And oh, you couldn’t forget those countless beach days building sand castles and racing through the waves.

 _Play with me~_ whispered the Voice upon the wind and waves. _Don’t leave. Play forever and ever and—”_

It was both harder and easier to ignore its push and pull. Childish ignorance and curiosity made it a fun game to follow its lead just a little, exploring places and going further than you’d ever gone before, before scampering back home with teasing laugh. Silly Voice, you had a home and a family. You couldn’t stay forever. But growing up brought awareness. Brought struggle and strain. It tempted for different reasons. It offered wonder and answers and belonging. It became possessive and wanting, it demanded you to shelter in its welcoming embrace, and became embittered by denial. 

_You belong with me,_ the trees would sing. _I will take you if I must!_ the storms would threaten. _Just walk a little further…_ the night would coax. _Stay a little longer…_ the sea would plead. 

And when you were at your lowest? When you mother all but abandoned you. When the harassment from the other children became unbearable. When your isolation was at its peak…

_Come to me. You are mine. Always mine. Come. Come to me. Mine. Mine. Mine._

“I can’t,” you told the Voice as you stood in the garden, rain starting to pitter down, every drop a chilling kiss on prickled skin. You wanted to sleep forever if wakefulness meant more suffering. You wanted to give in and be free of all burdens. But despite all the hurt, you remained leery, unable to bear breaking your Nan’s heart by giving into temptation. “If I go to you. If I follow your lead. I won’t be able to come home. I need to stay here.”

 _Mine. Mine. Mine. Always mine,_ the Voice hissed upon each drop of rain until it became a torrent. It was a cacophony of nothingness, its message lost in the downpour. Soaked down until your skin was pallid from the chill and your very bones ached, you remained and you listened. Tears rose hot in your eyes as the thunder rumbled a promise of its own. _I can take you away. You don’t belong here._

It was then your Nan found you, broken down on your knees, sobbing, hands over your ears as every word echoed in your head. She guided you inside that day and warmed you with hot tea and lavender-scented bath. 

“Make it stop,” you begged her. 

“I can’t,” she confessed, her frail old heart breaking for you, the pain gleaming in her eyes. She hugged you so tightly, then. “My poor, poor little Selkie. My darling, little changeling child.”

“Born too close to the veil,” you muttered.

“Aye,” she said. “I wish I could help ya more, but there are some fights ye will ‘ave to fight on ya own. Stay strong.”

“Aren’t I a bit old for the ‘faeries will take you’ stories, Nan? The other kids call me crazy. I heard a teacher say I should be on pills so I don’t end up hurtin’ anybody else.”

Her face crumpled as she hugged you more tightly, “Ye are not gonna hurt nobody. I don’ think ye ‘ave in ya, though summa them nags need a fist to the gob, they do.”

You chuckled, “I’m not going to punch my teachers, Nan.”

“Shame. Be the most excitement this town ‘as seen in a decade.”

“Nan…”

She patted your cheek with a smile, “Did I ever tell ye about when I was a wee lass and one o’ the Ó Ceallaigh boys wouldn’t stop pullin’ me hair?”

The night passed as time has a nature of moving on even when you thought it just might stand still forever. You never fled into the woods or went chasing waves in the ocean...and the Voice never stopped calling your name.

“Yer feelin’ better, dollface?”

A pointed glared silenced Price, and nobody else tried to make conversation. Not that Lucky ever spoke. He sat down at the edge of the water and kicked off his shoes, humming as he submerged his bony feet. You considered snipping at him too, but...his humming was pleasant. More than that, even. It was enchanting. For a creature without a tangible throat, it was curious how one of these mers could speak, much less make music, but Lucky hummed along in a manner that made it impossible to stay tense. It reminded you of those folk songs from the ‘old country’ your Nan liked to play on the stereo or even sing when she was in a mood.

However, a woman of many talents she might have been, singing was not a gift of hers. She could carry a tune well enough to soothe a wailing babe in the cradle or soothe a fussy child, but when she belted out the words to some drinking jig, well...it was fun. Not good. But fun. Lucky’s musicality was different. It didn’t have the rough edges of an unpracticed singer indulging in an amusement. You had to wonder what his voice would sound like if he began to sing rather than hum. Would it be just as lovely? Like honey and whiskey and all manner of masculine allure? Wait...allure. Was he dazzling you?

At your frown, his humming cut off, and he shrugged, browbones twitching. 

Jerk.

You had to be extra vigilant with these mers. As easy as it was to forget at times, they were fae, and each had their charms and wiles to trick their chosen prey. Striker had his glow—like a will o’ wisp but in the sea rather than in the forest. You’re pretty sure Mercy used his voice too, but instead of humming, he simply talked and talked until he got his way, though his natural radiance was distracting as well, even if it wasn’t as dazzling as Striker’s. The others hadn’t overtly tried to use their allure on you yet (you were fairly certain), but it was only a matter of time.

“I FIND THIS LONG SILENCE TEDIOUS,” Mercy suddenly declared. “HUMAN, IF YOU FEEL RECOVERED ENOUGH, I BELIEVE A PROPER TOUR OF YOUR NEW HOME IS IN ORDER.”

“Home? You mean prison,” you sassed. “Since I’m here against my will.”

“PRISONS ARE HOMES YOU CANNOT LEAVE AT WILL, BUT A HOME NONETHELESS. SOME WOULD SAY THE FAERIE REALM IS, IN ITSELF, A PRISON FOR THE MORTALS THAT CROSS ITS THRESHOLD. WORRY NOT. WE WISH YOU NO ILL, THUS THERE IS NO PUNISHMENT TO BE CONCERNED OVER. OH! AND ONCE YOU ARE A LITTLE LESS...ANGRY...THERE IS FAR, FAR MORE OF THIS WORLD TO SEE!”

“...Y’know, at least Striker doesn’t try to sugarcoat this hostage situation.”

“YOU ARE VERY DETERMINED TO BE UPSET.”

“Don’t like it? Lemme go.”

Mercy gave his tail a playful flick as he picked you from where you sat beside him, and promptly dumped you into Lucky’s lap. The other mer took that as a sign to stand, and instead of holding you bridal style like a gentleman, he slung you over his shoulder. You didn’t try to act civilized. You screeched and beat on his back with both hands, cursing them all in as many different languages as you could muster. Swears were always the easiest words to pick up and it didn’t matter if they made any sense when strung together. The intent was all that mattered.

Your struggles didn’t last long, because he dropped your flailing form into Price’s arms, who held you far more delicately. Glowering up at him—his human glamour a hazy shell that if you focused, you could see right through—you noticed that the socket you hit before was still cracked along the edges, but healing. Those hellfire eyelights quivered like fireflies in a jar before darting away, a faint tinge of red painting the tops of his cheekbones, “I can put’cher down somewheres, sweetheart. Jus’ tell me.”

Great. He was still all kicked puppy and apologetic. 

“Oh no, I was promised a grand tour. And while you are at it, tell me how to make some damn legs! You all have them, which means I should too!”

“Uhhh, sure...but the legs thing. ‘Fraid that aint sumthin’ easily explained. It comes naturally, if at all. Not all mers can make legs…”

“WHAT?!”

“B-but yer prolly can! bein’ yer started off wit ‘em. Jus’ gotta give it a lil time iz all.”

After a few more verbal jabs, Price had your still healing tail wrapped in a wet sheet, and the four of you ‘toured’ the mers’ home. It was larger inside than expected. Sure, the underwater tunnels were rather vast, but the above ones gave them a fair run for their proverbial money. Beyond the main chamber with its odd medical set up and ‘basking’ rocks, was a shallow system of three smaller chambers that made their kitchen and pantry. Man made appliances from wildly different eras and some obvious, liberal engineering to make them ‘magic compatible’ and, well, to work after being submerged, filled the largest of the three. Budding off of it was a cool, rather dry room filled with boxes and barrels. And the last room was filled with fish. So much dead, butchered, curing fish—most of which hung from the ceiling. 

Gross.

After that they took you to their above ground living quarters. Privacy apparently wasn’t much of a thing, as while there were nooks and caverns where they kept personal belongings such as clothes (or in Price and Boss’ case, actual human beds), the shallow pool at center of the main room was apparently where they slept. Either in or around. 

“COMMUNAL SLEEPING IS COMMON AMONGST OUR KIND,” Mercy helpfully supplied. “FAMILY MEMBERS WILL ALMOST ALWAYS SLEEP TOGETHER, BE THEY PARENTS AND CHILDREN, OR SIBLINGS. IT IS...WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO PHRASE IT...AN EXERCISE IN SOCIAL BONDING!”

You couldn’t help it, “What about unrelated members of a...pod? School? What is a group of mermaids even called?”

Lucky chuckled and Price elbowed him, though his mouth twitched with amusement, “Yer wouldn’t believe me if i told yer.”

“Oh?”

He wilted a little at your glare, “A mafia. A family unit of mers is a mafia. Iz a new word fer it. Used to just call’em families. But a family o’ mers aint always blood, and we take of our own. The human word got into this world, and well. It stuck.”

_“Tch, look at Cherry, giving away information without making a proper deal.”_

“Oi, fuck off, pipsqueak. We wuz just fine ‘fore yer showed up.”

Price turned and you saw Striker and Boss standing nearby. Boss back in his human glamour and Striker not even attempting one. The latter strode forward until he skimmed past Price, his elbow brushing your tail, “Well, go on. Continue to blabber since apparently I’m the only one not allowed to tell the human things without being scolded for it.”

“IS SOMEBODY CRABBY THAT HE DIDN’T GET TO HOLD THE HUMAN AS SHE SLEPT~?” Mercy teased. Striker, surprisingly, flushed cyan at that remark.

“Don’t be an idiot!”

“NYEH-HEH-HEH!”

“I hate all of you,” was your only contribution to the argument. 

Price huffed and gave a long sigh, “Seems like we have another member on the tour. As I wuz sayin’, a group of mers is a mafia and we tend to stick together. It aint safe for nobody to be a lone shark in the sea, and well, when ya got a family, yer make of it what’cher will. Karma aint too cuddly with nobody but his brother, but Lucky will take a snooze on just ‘bout anyone if he’s wantin’ a nap. Mercy don’t like sleepin’ alone when he bothers wit it, but Karma has a nasty bite and all of us have gotten a mean wake up call when he’s decided it’s his turn to sleep.”

“...That implies Striker and Boss…?”

“Heh. Boss is like Mercy in that he don’t like sleepin’ and won’t unless there’s somebody around. Believe it or not, once caught him, Striker, Mercy and Karma all in a pile once. All I can figure is that Karma got there last and decided he wuz too tired to chomp anyone.”

“I thought Striker was the one with the biting problem…”

“Oh, he is. But all mers bite. Part of nonverbal communication an’ all that. Just most of us know when it's appropriate and don’t go chewin’ on anyone that cheeses us off.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “All I’m taking from this is that if I want to make myself heard to you boneheads, that I should bite the hell out of you until you listen.”

Striker actually laughed at that. He didn’t share why—brat—but he laughed for a good while, and Price reddened further. Great. Apparently there was some kind of cultural misunderstanding here. Again.

“Eh. Not quite. Just...careful who yer bite.”

Striker clicked his teeth.

Ah, right. Because some of these fishy jerks would bite back. Understood.

“So, subject change. Where does that tunnel lead to?” The mers all looked to where you pointed and Striker gave Price an expectant stare.

“GO ON. TELL THE HUMAN SINCE YOU ARE SO EAGER TO SHARE~”

Striker was too happy. It had to be something horrid, like another room full of butchered fish. Or a torture room. They called themselves a mafia for frick’s sake. Would it really be beyond reason to think they’d have some creepy, blood covered room full of weird, faerie devices made to make people suffer to death? 

“It’s not the best time to talk ‘bout that room…” Price tried to back out, but Boss was there, and was a wall between him and the exit. After a wordless exchange, Price bowed his head and shuffled into the chamber, Boss and the others close behind. 

“THERE IS NO REASON TO HIDE THIS ROOM!” Mercy announced, maneuvering to lead the way, evidently dissatisfied with the pace. There was a curtain made of shells that he pushed aside before entering the little room. It wasn’t the horrorshow you imagined. In fact, it was rather plain, made of stone like all the rest of the caverns, though the rocks were worn extra smooth. There was another shallow pool and many scattered mattresses and pillows in the corners. There were even some salvaged foam tiles like one might find in a gym. If anything, it looked like a storage room for sleeping materials, though who was to say was in the chests by the door. “SEE. HONESTLY, CHERRY, YOU ARE BOTHERED BY THE STRANGEST THINGS. WHY WOULDN’T THE HUMAN WANT TO SEE THE NURSERY?”

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be starting a new fic. But I have writers block and this was what wanted to be written right now. If you want to know what I'm working on, check out my [tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/)! I sometimes do challenges, requests and raffles. Feel free to ask me questions there about this fic and any others.
> 
> \+ Originally, I named this fic 'The Maiden and the Mers'.  
> \+ A couple lovely folks on Tumblr helped me figure out some nicknames for our boyos~  
> \+ This idea has a bit of "A Little Mermaid", "Beauty and the Beast" and some good old "Grimms Fairytales" flavor thrown in to go along with the bits of faerie references.  
> \+ Depending what happens rating maaaaay rise to mature


End file.
